m 


Ki'f^s^imsmiii!}m&i^.fii'i^:t''^'m^<-^^^^^^ 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Historical  Tales 


The  Romance  of  Reality 


BY 

CHARLES  MORRIS 

AUTHOR  OF  "half-hours  WITH  THE  BEST  AMERICAN 
AUTHORS,"  "tales  FROM  THE  DRAMATISTS,"  "KING 
ARTHUR  AND  THE  KNIGHTS  OF  THE  ROUND-TaBLE,"  ETC. 


ENGLISH 


PHILADELPHIA 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY 
1902 


Copyright,  1893, 

BY 

|.  B=  LippiNcoTT  Company. 


Printed  bv  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company,  Philadelphia. 


CONTENTS. 


PAea 

How  England  became  Christian 7 

The  Wooing  of  Elfrtda 17 

King  Alfred  and  the  Danes 80 

Tub  End  of  Saxon  England 45 

Hereward  the  Wake 6? 

Death  of  the  Red  King 72 

How  the  White  Ship  Sailed 80 

The  Captivity  of  Richard  Cceur  de  Lion  ....  87 

A  Contest  for  a  Crovtn 100 

KoBiN  Hood  and  the  Knight  of  the  Rueful  Coun- 
tenance    113 

Wallace,  the  Hero  of  Scotland 127 

Bruce  at  Bannockburn 139 

The  Siege  of  Calais 161 

The  Black  Prince  at  Poitiers 163 

Wat  Tyler  and  the  Men  of  Kent 174 

The  White  Rose  of  England 185 

The  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold 201 

The  Story  of  Arabella  Stuart 215 

Love's  Knight-Errant 227 

The  Taking  of  Pontefract  Castle 241 

The  Adventures  of  a  Royal  Fugitive 260 

Cromwell  and  the  Parliament 280 

The  Relief  of  Londondkrry 288 

The  Hunting  of  Braemar 297 

The  Flight  of  Prince  Charles 306 

Trafalgar  and  the  Death  of  Nelson 320 

The  Massacre  of  an  Army 329 

3 


203931 1 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


ENGLISH. 

PAGK 

Canterbxtrt  Cathedral {Frontispiece). 

Scene  on  the  Kiver  Avon 31 

Ely  Cathedral '           ....  "-^ 

Statue  of  Richard  Cceur  de  Lion 97 

The  Wallace  Monument,  Stirling 133 

Stirling  Castle 

Church  of  Notre  Dame,  Poitiers 167 

Henry  the  Eighth 2^' 

The  Eoyal  Palace,  Madrid 239 

Oliver  Cromwell 281 

Edinburgh  Castle 301 

The  Old  Temerairb 321 


I/OPV  ENGLAND   BECAME 
CHRISTIAN, 

One  day,  in  the  far-off  sixth  ceiitury,  a  youthfu) 
deacon  of  the  Roman  Church  walked  into  the  slave- 
market  of  Rome,  situated  at  one  extremity  of  the  an- 
cient Forum.  Gregory,  his  name  ;  his  origin  from  an 
ancient  noble  family,  whose  gcnealogj^  could  be  traced 
back  to  the  days  of  the  early  Csesars.  A  youth  was 
this  of  imperial  powers  of  mind,  one  who,  had  he 
lived  when  Rome  was  mistress  of  the  physical  world, 
might  have  become  emperor ;  but  who,  living  when 
Rome  had  risen  to  lordship  over  the  spiritual  world, 
became  pope, — the  famous  Gregory  the  Great. 

In  the  Forum  the  young  deacon  saw  that  which 
touched  his  sympathetic  soul.  Here  cattle  were  being 
sold ;  there,  men.  His  eyes  were  specially  attracted 
by  a  group  of  youthful  slaves,  of  aspect  such  as  he 
nad  never  seen  before.  They  were  bi'ight  of  com- 
plexion, their  hair  long  and  golden,  their  expression 
of  touching  innocence.  Their  fair  faces  were 
Btrangely  unlike  the  embrowned  complexions  to 
which  he  had  been  accustomed,  and  he  stood  looking 
at  them  in  admiration,  while  the  slave-dealers  ex- 
tolled their  beauty  of  face  and  figure. 

7 


8  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

"  From  what  country  do  these  young  men  come  ?** 
asked  Gregory. 

"  They  are  English,  Angles,"  answered  the  dealers. 

"  Not  Angles,  but  angels,"  said  the  deacon,  with  a 
feeling  of  poetic  sentiment,  "  for  they  have  angel- 
like faces.  From  what  country  come  they?"  ho 
repeated. 

"They  come  from  Deira,"  said  the  merchants. 

"2>e  ird"  he  rejoined,  fervently;  "ay,  plucked 
from  God's  ire  and  called  to  Christ's  mercy.  And 
what  is  the  name  of  their  king  ?" 

"  Ella,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Alleluia  shall  be  sung  there !"  cried  the  enthusi- 
astic young  monk,  his  imagination  touched  by  the 
significance  of  these  answers.  He  passed  on,  musing 
on  the  incident  which  had  deeply  stirred  his  sym- 
pathies, and  considering  how  the  light  of  Christianity 
could  be  shed  upon  the  pagan  lands  whence  these 
fair  strangers  came. 

It  was  a  striking  picture  which  surrounded  that 
slave-market.  From  where  the  young  deacon  stood 
could  be  seen  the  capitol  of  ancient  Rome  and  the 
grand  proportions  of  its  mighty  Coliseum ;  not  far 
away  the  temple  of  Jupiter  Stator  displayed  its 
magnificent  columns,  and  other  stately  edifices  of 
the  imperial  city  came  within  the  circle  of  vision. 
Home  had  ceased  to  be  the  mistress  of  the  world, 
but  it  was  not  yet  in  ruins,  and  man}'  of  its  noble 
edifices  still  stood  almost  in  perfection.  But  paganism 
had  vanished.  The  cross  of  Christ  was  the  dominant 
symbol.  The  march  of  the  warriors  of  the  legions 
was  replaced   by  long  processions  of  cowled  and 


HOW   ENGLAND   BECAME   CHRISTIAN.  9 

Bolemn  monka.  The  temporal  imperialism  of  Eome 
had  ceased,  the  spiritual  had  begun;  instead  of 
armies  to  bring  the  world  under  the  dominion  of  the 
Bword,  that  ancient  city  now  sent  out  its  legions  of 
monks  to  bring  it  under  the  dominion  of  the  cross. 

Gregory  resolved  to  be  one  of  the  latter,  A  fair 
new  field  for  missionary  labor  lay  in  that  distant 
island,  peopled  by  pagans  whose  aspect  promised  lo 
make  them  noble  subjects  of  Christ's  kingdom  upon 
earth.  The  enthusiastic  youth  left  Eome  to  seek 
Saxon  England,  moved  thereto  not  by  desire  of 
earthly  glory,  but  of  heavenly  reward.  But  this 
was  not  to  be.  His  friends  deemed  that  he  was 
going  to  death,  and  begged  the  pope  to  order  his 
return.  Gregory  was  brought  back  and  England 
remained  pagan. 

Years  went  by.  The  humble  deacon  rose  to  be 
bishop  of  Eome  and  head  of  the  Christian  world. 
Gregory  the  Great,  men  named  him,  though  he  styled 
himself  "  Servant  of  the  Lord's  servants,"  and  lived 
in  like  humility  and  simplicity  of  style  as  when  he 
was  a  poor  monk. 

The  time  at  length  came  to  which  Gregory  had 
looked  forward.  Ethelbert,  king  of  Kentish  Eng- 
land, married  Bertha,  daughter  of  the  Fi'ench  king 
Charibert,  a  fervent  Christian  woman.  A  few  priests 
came  with  her  to  England,  and  the  king  gave  them 
a  ruined  Christian  edifice,  the  Chui'ch  of  St.  Martin, 
outside  the  walls  of  Canterbury,  for  their  worship. 
But  it  was  overshadowed  by  a  pagan  temple,  and 
the  worship  of  Odin  and  Thoi  still  dominated  Saxon 
England 


10  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Gregory  took  quick  advantage  of  this  opportunity. 
The  fair  faces  of  the  English  slaves  still  appealed  to 
his  pitying  soul,  and  he  now  sent  Augustine,  prior 
of  St.  Andrew's  at  Eome,  with  a  band  of  forty 
monks  as  missionaries  to  England.  It  was  the  year 
of  our  Lord  597.  The  missionaries  landed  at  the 
very  spot  where  Hengist  the  Saxon  conqueror  had 
landed  more  than  a  century  before.  The  one  had 
brought  the  sword  to  England,  the  others  brought 
the  cross.  King  Ethelbert  knew  of  their  coming 
and  had  agreed  to  receive  them ;  but,  by  the  advice 
of  his  priests,  who  feared  conjuration  and  spells  of 
magic,  he  gave  them  audience  in  the  open  air,  where 
such  spells  have  less  power.  The  place  was  on  the 
chalk-down  above  Minster,  whence,  miles  away  across 
the  intervening  marshes,  one  may  to-day  behold  the 
distant  tower  of  Canterbury  cathedral. 

The  scene,  as  pictured  to  us  in  the  monkish  chron- 
icles, was  a  picturesque  and  inspiring  one.  The  hill 
selected  for  the  meeting  overlooked  the  ocean.  King 
Ethelbert,  with  Queen  Bertha  by  his  side,  awaited  in 
state  his  visitors.  Around  were  grouped  the  warriors 
of  Kent  and  the  priests  of  Odin.  Silence  reigned,  and 
in  the  distance  the  monks  could  be  seen  advancing 
in  solemn  procession,  singing  as  they  came.  He  who 
came  first  bore  a  large  silver  crucifix.  Another  car- 
ried  a  banner  with  the  painted  image  of  Christ. 
The  deep  and  solemn  music,  the  venerable  and  peace- 
ful aspect  of  the  strangers,  the  solemnity  of  the  oc- 
casion, touched  the  heart  of  Ethelbert,  already  ftivor- 
ably  inclined,  as  we  may  believe,  to  the  faith  of  bis 
loved  wife. 


HOW   ENGLAND   BECAME   CHRISTIAN.  11 

Augustine  had  brought  interpreters  from  GauL 
Hy  their  aid  he  conveyed  to  the  king  the  message  ho 
had  been  sent  to  bring.  Ethelbert  listened  in  silence, 
the  queen  in  rapt  attention,  the  warriors  and  priests 
doubtless  with  varied  sentiments.  The  appeal  of 
Augustine  at  an  end,  Ethelbert  spoke. 

"  Your  words  are  fair,"  he  said,  "  but  they  are  new, 
and  of  doubtful  meaning.  For  myself,  I  propose  to 
worship  still  the  gods  of  my  fathers.  But  you  bring 
peace  and  good  words;  you  are  welcome  to  my 
kingdom ;  while  you  stay  here  you  shall  have  shelter 
and  protection." 

His  land  was  a  land  of  plenty,  he  told  them  ;  food, 
drink,  and  lodging  should  be  theirs,  and  none  should 
do  them  wi'ong ;  England  should  be  their  home  while 
they  chose  to  stay. 

With  these  words  the  audience  ended.  Augustine 
and  his  monks  fell  again  into  procession,  and,  with 
singing  of  psalms  and  display  of  holy  emblems, 
moved  solemnly  towards  the  city  of  Canterbury, 
where  Bertha's  church  awaited  them.  As  they  en- 
tered the  city  they  sang : 

"  Turn  from  this  city,  O  Lord,  thine  anger  and 
wrath,  and  turn  it  from  Thy  holy  house,  for  we  have 
sinned."  Then  Gregory's  joyful  cry  of  "  Alleluia  ! 
Alleluia !"  burst  from  their  devout  lips,  as  they  moved 
into  the  first  English  church. 

The  work  of  the  "  strangers  from  Rome"  proceeded 
but  slowly.  Some  converts  were  made,  but  Ethel 
bert  held  aloof  Fortunately  for  Augustine,  he  had 
an  advocate  in  the  palace,  one  with  near  and  dear 
speech  in  the  king's  eai.     Wo  cannot  doubt  that  the 


12  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

gentle  influence  of  Queen  Bertha  was  a  leading  power 
in  Etbelbert's  conversion,  A  year  passed.  At  its 
end  the  king  gave  way.  On  the  day  of  Pentecost  ho 
was  baptized.  Christ  had  succeeded  Odin  and  Thor 
on  the  throne  of  the  English  heart,  for  the  story  of 
the  king's  conversion  carried  his  kingdom  with  it.  The 
men  of  Kent,  hearing  that  their  king  had  adopted  the 
new  faith,  crowded  the  banks  of  the  Swale,  eager  for 
baptism.  The  under-kings  of  Essex  and  East- Anglia 
became  Christians.  On  the  succeeding  Christmas- 
day  ten  thousand  of  the  people  followed  the  example 
of  their  king.  The  new  faith  spread  with  wonder- 
ful rapidity  throughout  the  kingdom  of  Kent. 

"When  word  of  this  great  event  reached  Pope 
Gregory  at  Eome  his  heart  was  filled  with  joy.  He 
exultinglj'"  wrote  to  a  friend  that  his  missionaries 
had  spread  the  religion  of  Christ  "  in  the  most  re- 
mote parts  of  the  world,"  and  at  once  appointed  Au- 
gustine archbishop  of  Canterbury  and  primate  of  all 
England,  that  he  might  complete  the  work  he  had 
80  promisingly  begun.  Such  is  the  story  of  the 
Christianizing  of  England  as  told  in  the  ancient 
chronicle  of  the  venerable  Bede,  the  earliest  of  Eng- 
lish writers. 

As  yet  only  Kent  had  been  converted.  North  of 
it  lay  the  kingdom  of  Northumbria,  still  a  pagan 
realm.  The  story  of  its  conversion,  as  told  by  Bede, 
is  of  no  less  interest  than  that  just  related.  Edwin 
was  its  king,  a  man  of  great  ability  for  that  early 
day.  His  prowess  is  shown  in  a  proverb :  "  A 
woman  with  her  babe  might  walk  scathless  from 
eea  to  sea  in  Edwin's  day."     The  highways,  long 


HOW   ENGLAND   BECAME   CHRISTIAN.  13 

made  dangerous  by  outlaw  and  ruthless  warrior,  were 
now  safe  avenues  of  travel ;  the  springs  by  the  road- 
side were  marked  by  stakes,  while  brass  cups  beside 
them  awaited  the  traveller's  hand.  Edwin  ruled  over 
all  northern  England,  as  Ethelbert  did  over  the 
south.  Edinburgh  was  within  his  dominions,  and 
from  him  it  had  its  name^ — Edwin's  burgh,  the  city 
of  Edwin. 

Christianity  came  to  this  monarch's  heart  in  some 
such  manner  as  it  had  reached  that  of  Ethelbert, 
through  the  appealing  influence  of  his  wife.  A 
daughter  of  King  Ethelbert  had  come  to  share  his 
throne.  She,  like  Bertha  her  mother,  was  a  Chris- 
tian. With  her  came  the  monk  Paulinus,  from  the 
church  at  Canterbury.  He  was  a  man  of  striking 
aspect, — of  tall  and  stooping  form,  slender,  aquiline 
nose,  and  thin,  worn  face,  round  which  fell  long  black 
hair.  The  ardent  missionary,  aided  doubtless  by  the 
secret  appeals  of  the  queen,  soon  produced  an  influ- 
ence upon  the  intelligent  mind  of  Edwin.  The  mon- 
arch called  a  council  of  his  wise  men,  to  talk  with 
them  about  the  new  doctrine  which  had  been  taught 
in  his  realm.  Of  what  passed  at  that  council  we 
have  but  one  short  speech,  but  it  is  one  that  illumi- 
nates it  as  no  other  words  could  have  done,  a  lesson 
in  prose  which  is  full  of  the  finest  spirit  of  poetry, 
perhaps  the  most  picturesque  image  of  human  life 
that  has  ever  been  put  into  words. 

"  So  seems  to  me  the  life  of  man,  O  king,"  said 
an  aged  noble,  "as  a  sparrow's  flight  through  the 
hall  when  you  are  sitting  at  meat  in  winter-tide, 
with  the  warm  fire  lighted  on  the  hearth,  while  out- 

2 


14  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Bide  all  is  storm  of  rain  and  snow.  The  sparrow 
flies  in  at  one  door,  and  tarries  for  a  moment  in  the 
light  and  heat  of  the  fire  within,  and  then,  flying 
forth  from  the  other,  vanishes  into  the  wintry  dark- 
ness whence  it  came.  So  the  life  of  man  tarries  for 
a  moment  in  our  sight ;  but  of  what  went  before  it, 
or  what  is  to  follow  it,  we  know  nothing.  If  this 
new  teaching  tells  us  something  more  certain  of 
these  things,  let  us  follow  it." 

Such  an  appeal  could  not  but  have  a  powerful 
efiect  upon  his  hearers.  Those  were  days  when  men 
were  more  easily  moved  by  sentiment  than  by  argu- 
ment. Edwin  and  his  councillors  heard  with  favoring 
ears.  Not  last  among  them  was  Coifi,  chief  priest 
of  the  idol-worship,  whose  ardent  soul  was  stirred 
by  the  words  of  the  old  thane. 

"None  of  your  people,  King  Edwin,  have  wor- 
shipped the  gods  more  busily  than  I,"  he  said,  "  yet 
there  are  many  who  have  been  more  favored  and  are 
more  fortunate.  Were  these  gods  good  for  anything 
they  would  help  their  worshippers." 

Grasping  his  spear,  the  irate  priest  leaped  on  hia 
horse,  and  riding  at  full  speed  towards  the  temple 
sacred  to  the  heathen  gods,  he  hurled  the  warlike 
weapon  furiously  into  its  precincts. 

The  lookers-on,  nobles  and  commons  alike,  beheld 
his  act  with  awe,  in  doubt  if  the  deities  of  their  old 
worship  would  not  avenge  with  death  this  insult  to 
their  fane.  Yet  all  remained  silent ;  no  thunders 
rent  the  skies ;  the  desecrating  priest  sat  his  horse 
unharmed.  When,  then,  he  bade  them  follow  him 
to   the   neighboring  stream,   to   be  baptized  in  its 


now   ENGLAND   BECAME   CHRISTIAN.  15 

waters  into  the  new  faith,  an  eager  multitude  crowded 
upon  his  steps. 

The  spot  where  Edwin  and  his  followers  were  bap- 
tized is  thus  described  by  Camden,  in  his  "  Descrip 
tion  of  Great  Britain,"  etc. :  ''  In  the  Eoman  times, 
not  far  from  its  bank  upon  the  little  river  Foulness 
(wliere  Wighton,  a  small  town,  but  well-stocked 
with  husbandmen,  now  stands),  there  seems  to  have 
formerly  stood  Delgovitia;  as  it  is  probable  both 
from  the  likeness  and  the  signification  of  the  name. 
For  the  British  word  Delgwe  (or  rather  Ddehd) 
signifies  the  statues  or  images  of  the  heathen  gods ; 
and  in  a  little  village  not  far  off  there  stood  an 
idol-tcmple,  which  was  in  very  great  honor  in  the 
Saxon  times,  and,  from  the  heathen  gods  in  it,  was 
then  called  Godmundingham,  and  now,  in  the  same 
F€nse,  Godmanhani."  It  was  into  this  temple  that 
Coifi  flung  his  desecrating  spear,  and  in  this  stream 
that  Edwin  the  king  received  Christian  baptism. 

But  Christianity  did  not  win  England  without  a 
struggle.  After  the  deatli  of  Ethelbert  and  Edwin, 
paganism  revived  and  fought  hard  for  the  mastery. 
The  Roman  monks  lost  their  enei'gy,  and  were  con- 
fined to  the  vicinity  of  Canterbury.  Conversion 
came  again,  but  from  the  west  instead  of  the  east, 
from  Ireland  instead  of  Rome. 

Christianity  had  been  received  with  enthusiasm  in 
Erin's  isle.  Less  than  half  a  century  after  the  death 
of  St.  Patrick,  the  first  missionary,  flourishing  Chris- 
tian schools  existed  at  Darrow  and  Armagh,  lettera 
and  the  arts  were  cultivated,  and  missionaries  were 
leaving  the  shores  of  Ireland  to  carry  the  faith  clue- 


16  HISTORICAL  TALES 

wtere.  From  the  famous  monastery  which  they 
founded  at  lona,  on  the  west  coast  of  Scotland, 
came  the  new  impulse  which  gave  Christianity  its 
fixed  footing  in  England,  and  finally  drove  paganism 
from  Britain's  shores.  Oswald,  of  North umbria,  be- 
came the  bulwark  of  the  new  faith ;  Penda,  of  Mercia, 
the  sword  of  heathendom ;  and  a  long  struggle  for 
religion  and  dominion  ensued  between  these  warlike 
chiefs.  Oswald  was  slain  in  battle;  Penda  led  hia 
conquering  host  far  into  the  Christian  realm ;  but  a 
new  king,  Oswi  by  name,  overthrew  Penda  and  his 
army  in  a  great  defeat,  and  the  worship  of  the  older 
gods  in  England  was  at  an  end.  But  a  half-century 
of  struggle  and  bloodshed  passed  before  the  victory 
of  Christ  over  Odin  was  fully  won. 


THE    WOOING    OF  ELFRIDA, 

Of  all  the  many  fair  maidens  of  the  Saxon  realm 
none  bore  such  fame  for  beauty  as  the  charming 
Elfrida,  daughter  of  the  earl  of  Devonshire,  and 
the  rose  of  southern  England.  She  had  been  edu- 
cated in  the  country  and  had  never  been  seen  in 
London,  but  the  report  of  her  charms  of  face  and 
person  spread  so  widely  that  all  the  land  became 
filled  with  the  tale. 

It  soon  reached  the  court  and  came  to  the  ears  of 
Edgar,  the  king,  a  youthful  monarch  who  had  an 
open  ear  for  all  tales  of  maidenly  beauty.  He  was 
yet  but  little  more  than  a  boy,  was  unmarried,  and 
a  born  lover.  The  praises  of  this  country  charmer, 
therefore,  stiried  his  susceptible  heart.  She  was 
nobly  born,  the  heiress  to  an  earldom,  the  very  rose 
of  English  maidens, — what  better  consort  for  the 
thr<5ne  could  be  found  ?  If  report  spoke  true,  this 
was  the  maiden  he  should  choose  for  wife,  this  fair- 
est flower  of  the  Saxon  realm.  But  rumor  grows 
apace,  and  common  report  is  not  to  be  trusted.  Edgar 
thought  it  the  part  of  discretion  to  make  sure  of  the 
beauty  of  the  much-lauded  Elfrida  before  making 
a  formal  demand  for  her  hand  in  marriage. 

Devonshire  was  far  away,  roads  few  and  poor  in 
II — h  1*  17 


\8  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Si  xon  England,  travel  slow  and  wearisome,  and  tho 
kii.  %  had  no  taste  for  the  journey  to  the  castle  of 
Olgur  of  Devon.  Nor  did  he  deem  it  wise  to  declare 
his  intention  till  he  made  sure  that  the  maiden  was  to 
his  liking.  He,  therefore  spoke  of  his  purpose  to 
Earl  Athelwold,  his  favorite,  whom  he  bade  to  pay 
a  visit,  on  some  pretence,  to  Earl  Olgar  of  Devon- 
shire, to  see  his  renowned  daughter,  and  to  bring  to 
the  court  a  certain  account  concerning  her  beauty. 

Athelwold  went  to  Devonshire,  saw  the  lady,  and 
proved  faithless  to  his  trust.  Love  made  him  a 
traitor,  as  it  has  made  many  before  and  since  his 
day.  So  marvellousl}'-  beautiful  he  found  Elfrida 
that  his  heart  fell  prisoner  to  the  most  vehement 
Jove,  a  passion  so  ardent  that  it  drove  all  thoughts 
of  honor  and  fidelity  from  his  soul,  and  he  deter- 
mined to  have  this  charming  lass  of  Devonshire  for 
his  own,  despite  king  or  commons. 

Athelwold's  high  station  had  secured  him  a  warm 
welcome  from  his  brother  earl.  He  acquitted  him- 
self of  his  pretended  mission  to  Olgar,  basked  as 
long  as  prudence  permitted  in  the  sunlight  of  his 
lady's  eyes,  and,  almost  despite  himself,  made  mani- 
fest to  Elfrida  the  sudden  passion  that  had  filled  his 
soul.  The  maiden  took  it  not  amiss,  Athelwold 
was  young,  handsome,  rich,  and  high  in  station, 
Elfrida  susceptible  and  ambitious,  and  he  returned 
to  London  not  without  hope  that  he  had  favorably 
impressed  the  lady's  heart,  and  filled  with  the  faith- 
less purpose  of  deceiving  the  king. 

"  You  have  seen  and  noted  her,  Athelwold,"  said 
Edgar,  on  giving  him  audience;   "what  have  you 


THE  WOOING   OP   ELFRIDA.  19 

to  say  ?  Has  report  spoken  truly  ?  Is  she  indeed 
the  marvellous  beauty  that  rumor  tells,  or  has  fame, 
the  liar,  played  us  one  of  his  old  tricks?" 

"  Not  altogether ;  the  woman  is  not  bad-looking," 
Baid  Athehvold,  with  studied  lack  of  enthusiasm; 
"  but  I  fear  that  high  station  and  a  pretty  face  have 
combined  to  bewitch  the  people.  Certainly,  if  she 
had  been  of  low  birth,  her  channs  would  never  have 
been  heard  of  outside  her  native  village." 

"  I'  faith,  Athelwold,  you  are  not  warm  in  your 
praise  of  this  queen  of  beauty,"  said  Edgar,  with 
some  disappointment.  "  Eumor,  then,  has  lied,  and 
she  is  but  an  every-day  woman,  after  all  ?" 

"Beauty  has  a  double  origin,"  answered  Athel- 
wold ;  "  it  lies  partly  in  the  face  seen,  partly  in  the 
eyes  seeing.  vSome  might  go  mad  over  this  Elfrida, 
but  to  my  taste  Loudon  affords  fairer  faces.  I  speak 
but  for  myself.  Should  you  see  her  you  might  think 
differently." 

Athelwold  had  managed  his  story  shrewdly ;  the 
king's  ardor  grew  cold. 

"  If  the  matter  stands  thus,  he  that  wants  her 
may  have  her,"  said  Edgar.  "The  diamond  that 
fails  to  show  its  lustre  in  all  candles  is  not  the  gem 
for  my  wearing.  Confess,  Athelwold,  you  are  trying 
to  overpaint  this  woman;  you  found  only  an  ordi- 
nary face." 

"I  saw  nothing  in  it  extraordinary,"  answered 
the  faithless  envoy.  "Some  might,  perhaps.  lean 
only  speak  for  myself.  As  I  take  it,  Elfr Ida's  noble 
birth  and  her  fathers  wealth,  which  will  come  to 
her  as  sole  heiress,  have  had  their  share  in  painting 


20  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

this  rose.     The  woman   may  have   beauty  enough 
for  a  countess  ;  hardly  enough  for  a  queen." 

"  Then  you  should  have  wooed  and  won  her  your- 
self," said  Edgar,  laughing  "  Such  a  faintly-praised 
charmer  is  not  for  me.  I  leave  her  for  a  lower-born 
iDver." 

Several  days  passed.  Athelwold  had  succeeded  in 
his  purpose ;  the  king  had  evidently  been  cured  of 
his  fancy  for  Elfrida.  The  way  was  open  for  the 
next  step  in  his  deftly-laid  scheme.  He  took  it  by 
turning  the  conversation,  in  a  later  interview,  upon 
the  Devon  maiden. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  over  your  remark,  that  I 
should  woo  and  win  Elfrida  myself,"  he  said.  "  It 
seems  to  me  not  a  bad  idea.  I  must  confess  that  the 
birth  and  fortune  of  the  lady  added  no  beauty  to  her 
in  my  eyes,  as  it  seems  to  have  done  in  those  of 
others;  yet  I  cannot  but  think  that  the  woman 
would  make  a  suitable  match  for  me.  She  is  an  earl's 
daughter,  and  she  will  inherit  great  wealth ;  these  are 
advantages  which  fairly  compensate  some  lack  of 
beauty.  I  have  decided,  therefore,  sire,  if  I  can  gain 
your  approbation,  to  ask  Olgar  for  his  daughter's 
hand.     I  fancy  I  can  gain  her  consent  if  I  have  his." 

"  I  shall  certainly  not  stand  in  your  way,"  said  the 
king,  pleased  with  the  opportunity  to  advance  his 
favorite's  fortunes.  "  By  all  means  do  as  you  propose. 
I  will  give  you  letters  to  the  earl  and  his  lady,  re- 
commending the  match.  You  must  trust  to  yourself 
to  make  your  way  with  the  maiden." 

"I  think  she  is  not  quite  displeased  with  me," 
answered  Athelwold. 


THE  WOOING   OF   ELFRIBA.  21 

What  followed  few  words  may  tell.  The  passion 
of  love  in  Athelwold's  heart  had  driven  out  all  con- 
siderations of  honor  and  duty,  of  the  good  faith  he 
owed  the  king,  and  of  the  danger  of  his  false  and 
treacherous  course.  Warm  with  hope,  he  returned 
with  a  lover's  haste  to  Devonshire,  where  he  gained 
the  approval  of  the  earl  and  countess,  won  the  hand 
and  seemingly  the  heart  of  their  beautiful  daughter, 
and  was  speedily  united  to  the  lady  of  his  love,  and 
became  for  the  time  being  the  happiest  man  in  Eng- 
land. 

But  before  the  honey-moon  was  well  over,  the  faith- 
less friend  and  subject  realized  that  he  had  a  difficult 
and  dangerous  part  to  play.  He  did  not  dare  let 
Edgar  see  his  wife,  for  fear  of  the  instant  detection 
of  his  artifice,  and  he  employed  every  pretence  to  keep 
her  in  the  country.  Ilis  duties  at  the  court  brought 
him  frequently  to  London,  but  with  the  skill  at  ex- 
cuses he  had  formerly  shown  he  contrived  to  satisfy 
for  the  time  the  queries  of  the  king  and  the  impor- 
tunities of  his  wife,  who  had  a  natural  desire  to  visit 
the  capital  and  to  shine  at  the  king's  court. 

Athelwold  was  sailing  between  Scyllaand  Charj-b- 
dis.  lie  could  scarcely  escape  being  wrecked  on  the 
rocks  of  his  own  falsehood.  The  enemies  who  always 
surround  a  royal  favorite  were  not  long  in  sui-mising 
the  truth,  and  lost  no  time  in  acquainting  Edgar 
with  their  suspicions.  Confirmation  was  not  wanting. 
There  were  those  in  London  who  had  seen  Elfrida. 
The  king's  eyes  were  opened  to  the  treacherous  arti- 
fice of  which  he  had  been  made  the  victim. 

Edgar  was  deeply  incensed,  but  artfully  concealed 


22  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

his  anger.  Eeflection,  too,  told  him  that  these  men 
were  Athelwold's  enemies,  and  that  the  man  he  had 
loved  and  trusted  ought  not  to  be  condemned  on  the 
insinuations  of  his  foes.  He  would  satisfy  himself  if 
his  favorite  had  played  the  traitor,  and  if  so  would 
visit  him  with  the  punishment  he  deserved. 

"Athelwold,"  said  Edgar,  in  easy  tones,  "I  am 
surprised  you  do  not  bring  your  wife  to  court.  Surely 
the  woman,  if  she  is  true  woman,  must  crave  to 
come." 

"  Not  she,"  answered  Athelwold.  "  She  loves  the 
country  well  and  is  a  pattern  of  the  rural  virtues. 
The  woman  is  homely  and  home-loving,  and  I  should 
be  sorry  to  put  new  ideas  in  her  rustic  pate.  More- 
over, I  fear  my  little  candle  would  shine  too  poorly 
among  your  courtly  stars  to  offer  her  in  contrast." 

"  Fie  on  you,  man !  the  wife  of  Athelwold  cannot 
be  quite  a  milkmaid.  If  you  will  not  bring  her  here, 
then  I  must  pay  you  a  visit  in  your  castle ;  I  like 
you  too  well  not  to  know  and  like  your  wife." 

This  proposition  of  the  king  filled  Athelwold  with 
terror  and  dismay.  He  grew  pale,  and  hesitatingly 
sought  to  dissuade  Edgar  from  his  project,  but  in 
vain.  The  king  had  made  up  his  mind,  and  laugh- 
ingly told  him  that  he  could  not  rest  till  he  had  seen 
the  homely  housewife  whom  Athelwold  was  afraid 
to  trust  in  court. 

"  I  feel  the  honor  you  would  do  me,"  at  length 
remarked  the  dismayed  favorite.  "  I  only  ask,  sire, 
that  you  let  me  go  before  you  a  few  hours,  that  my 
castle  may  be  properly  prepared  for  a  visit  from  my 
kins." 


THE   WOOING   OF   ELFRIDA.  23 

"As  you  will,  gossip,"  laughed  the  king.  "Away 
with  you,  then ;  I  will  soon  follow." 

In  all  haste  the  traitor  sought  his  castle,  quaking 
with  fear,  and  revolving  in  his  mind  schemes  for 
avoiding  the  threatened  disclosure.  He  could  think 
of  but  one  that  promised  success,  and  that  depended 
on  the  love  and  compliance  of  Elfrida.  He  had  de- 
ceived her.  Ho  must  tell  her  the  truth.  With  her 
aid  his  faithless  action  might  still  be  concealed. 

Entering  his  castle,  he  sought  Elfrida  and  revealed 
to  her  the  whole  measure  of  his  deceit,  how  he  had 
won  her  from  the  king,  led  by  his  overpowering  love, 
how  he  had  kept  her  from  the  king's  eyes,  and  how 
Edgar  now,  filled,  he  feared,  with  suspicion,  was  on 
his  way  to  the  castle  to  see  her  for  himself. 

In  moving  accents  the  wretched  man  appealed  to 
her,  if  she  had  any  regard  for  his  honor  and  his  life, 
to  conceal  from  the  king  that  fatal  beauty  which 
had  lured  him  from  his  duty  to  his  friend  and  mon- 
arch, and  led  him  into  endless  falsehoods.  He  had 
but  his  love  to  offer  as  a  warrant  for  his  double  faith- 
lessness, and  implored  Elfrida,  as  she  returned  his 
affection,  to  lend  her  aid  to  his  exculpation.  If  she 
loved  him  as  she  seemed,  she  would  put  on  her  home- 
liest attire,  employ  the  devices  of  the  toilette  to  hide 
her  fatal  beauty,  and  assume  an  awkward  and  rustic 
tone  and  manner,  that  the  king  might  be  deceived. 

Elfrida  heard  him  in  silence,  her  face  scarcely  con- 
coaling  the  indignation  which  burned  in  her  soul  on 
learning  the  artifice  by  which  she  had  been  robbed 
of  a  crown.  In  the  end,  however,  she  seemed  moved 
by  his  entreaties  and  softened  by  his  love,  and  prom- 


24  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

ised  to  comply  with  his  wishes  and  do  her  utmost 
to  conceal  her  charms. 

Gratified  with  this  compliance,  and  full  of  hope 
that  all  would  yet  be  safe,  Athelwold  completed  his 
preparations  for  the  reception  of  the  king,  and  met 
him  on  his  appearance  with  every  show  of  honor 
and  respect.  Edgar  seemed  pleased  by  his  reception, 
entered  the  castle,  but  was  not  long  there  before  he 
asked  to  see  its  lady,  saying  merrily  that  she  had 
been  the  loadstone  that  had  drawn  him  thither,  and 
that  he  was  eager  to  behold  her  charming  ftice. 

"  I  fear  I  have  little  of  boauty  and  grace  to  show 
you,"  answered  Athelwold  ;  "  but  she  is  a  good  wife 
withal,  and  I  love  her  for  virtues  which  few  would 
call  courtly." 

He  tm'ned  to  a  servant  and  bade  him  ask  his  mis- 
tress to  come  to  the  castle  hall,  where  the  king 
expected  her. 

Athelwold  waited  with  hopeful  eyes;  the  king 
with  curious  expectation.  The  husband  knew  how 
unattractive  a  toilet  his  wife  could  make  if  she 
would;  Edgar  was  impatient  to  test  for  himself  the 
various  reports  he  had  received  concerning  this  wild 
rose  of  Devonshire. 

The  lady  entered.  The  hope  died  from  Ath el- 
wold's  eyes ;  the  pallor  of  death  overspread  his  face. 
A  sudden  light  flashed  into  the  face  of  the  king,  a 
glow  made  up  of  passion  and  anger.  For  instead 
of  the  ill-dressed  and  awkward  country  housewife 
for  whom  Athelwold  looked,  there  beamed  upon  all 
present  a  woman  of  regal  beauty,  clad  in  her  richest 
attu'e,  her  charms  of  face  and  person  set  off  with  all 


THE   WOOING   OF    ELFRIDA.  25 

the  adornment  that  jewels  and  laces  could  bcf<tow, 
her  face  blooming  into  its  most  engaging  smile  as 
ehe  greeted  the  king. 

She  had  deceived  her  trusting  husband.  His  story 
of  treachery  had  driven  from  her  heart  all  the  love 
for  him  that  ever  dwelt  there.  He  had  robbed  her 
of  a  throne ;  she  vowed  revenge  in  her  soul ;  it  might 
be  hers  yet ;  with  the  burning  instinct  of  ambition 
she  had  adorned  herself  to  the  utmost,  hoping  to 
punish  her  foithless  lord  an-d  win  the  king. 

She  succeeded.  While  Athelwold  stood  by,  biting 
his  lips,  striving  to  bring  back  the  truant  blood  to  his 
face,  making  hesitating  remarks  to  his  guest,  and 
turning  eyes  of  deadly  anger  on  his  wife,  the  scheming 
woman  was  using  her  most  engaging  arts  of  conver- 
sation and  manner  to  win  the  king,  and  with  a  suc- 
cess greater  than  she  knew.  Edgar  beheld  her 
beauty  with  surprise  and  joy,  his  heart  throbbing 
with  ardent  passion.  She  was  all  and  more  than  ho 
had  been  told.  Athelwold  had  basely  deceived  him, 
and  his  new-born  love  for  the  wife  was  mingled  with 
a  fierce  desire  for  revenge  upon  the  husband.  But 
the  artful  monarch  dissembled  both  these  passions, 
lie  was,  to  a  certain  extent,  in  Athclwold's  power. 
His  train  was  not  large,  and  those  were  days  in  which 
an  angry  or  jealous  thane  would  not  hesitate  to  lift 
his  hand  against  a  king.  He,  therefore,  affected  not  to 
be  struck  with  Elfrida's  beauty,  was  gracious  as  usual 
to  his  host,  and  seemed  the  most  agreeable  of  guests. 

But  passion  was  burning  in  his  heart,  the  double 
passion  of  love  and  revenge.  A  day  or  two  of  this 
play  of  kingly  clemency  passed,  then  Athelwold  and 

B  3 


26  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

his  guests  went  to  hunt  in  the  neighboring  forest,  and 
in  the  heat  of  the  chase  Edgar  gained  the  opportunity 
he  desired.  He  stabbed  his  unsuspecting  host  in  the 
back,  left  him  dead  on  the  field,  and  rode  back  to  the 
castle  to  declare  his  love  to  the  suddenly-widowed 
wife. 

Elfrida  had  won  the  game  for  which  she  had  so 
heartlessly  played.  Ambition  in  her  soul  outweighed 
such  love  as  she  bore  for  Athelwold,  and  she  received 
with  gracious  welcome  the  king  whose  hands  were 
still  red  from  the  murder  of  her  late  spouse.  No 
long  time  passed  before  Edgar  and  Elfrida  were  pub- 
licly married,  and  the  love  romance  which  had  dis- 
tinguished the  life  of  the  famed  beauty  of  Devonshire 
reached  its  consummation. 

This  romantic  story  has  a  sequel  which  tells  still 
less  favorably  for  the  Devonshire  beauty.  She  had 
compassed  the  murder  of  her  husband.  It  was  not 
her  last  crime.  Edgar  died  when  her  son  Ethelred 
was  but  seven  years  of  age.  The  king  had  left 
another  son,  Edward,  by  his  first  wife,  now  fifteen 
years  old.  The  ambitious  woman  plotted  for  the 
elevation  of  her  son  to  the  throne,  hoping,  doubtless, 
herself  to  reign  as  regent.  The  people  favored 
Edward,  as  the  rightful  heir,  and  the  nobility  and 
clergy,  who  feared  the  imperious  temper  of  Elfrida, 
determined  to  thwart  her  schemes.  To  put  an  end 
to  the  matter,  Dunstan  the  monk,  the  all-powerful 
king-maker  of  that  epoch,  had  the  young  prince 
anointed  and  crowned.  The  whole  kingdom  sup- 
ported his  act,  and  the  hopes  of  Elfrida  were  Heem- 
ingly  at  an  end. 


THE   WOOING   OF   ELFRIDA.  27 

But  she  was  a  woman  not  to  be  easilj-  defeated. 
She  bided  her  time,  and  affected  warm  regard  for  the 
youthful  king,  who  loved  her  as  if  he  had  been  her 
own  son,  and  displayed  the  most  tender  affection  for 
his  brother.  Edward,  indeed,  was  a  character  out 
of  tone  with  those  rude  tenth-century  days,  when 
might  was  right,  and  murder  was  often  the  first  step 
to  a  throne.  He  was  of  the  utmost  innocence  of 
heart  and  amiability  of  manners,  so  pure  in  his  own 
thoughts  that  susjjicion  of  others  found  no  place  in 
his  soul. 

One  day,  four  years  after  his  accession,  he  waj) 
hunting  in  a  forest  in  Dorsetshire,  not  far  from 
Corfe-castle,  where  Elfrida  and  Etheli-ed  lived.  The 
chances  of  the  chase  led  him  to  the  vicinity  of  the 
castle,  and,  taking  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to 
see  its  loved  inmates,  he  rode  away  from  his  attend- 
ants, and  in  the  evening  twilight  sounded  his  hunting- 
horn  at  the  castle  gates. 

This  was  the  opportunity  which  the  ambitious 
woman  had  desired.  The  rival  of  her  son  had  put 
himself  unattended  within  her  reach.  Hastily  pre- 
paring for  the  reception  she  designed  to  give  him, 
she  came  from  the  castle,  smiling  a  greeting. 

"  You  are  heartily  welcome,  dear  king  and  son," 
she  said.     "  Pray  dismount  and  enter." 

"  Not  so,  dear  madam,"  he  replied.  "  My  company 
will  miss  me,  and  fear  I  have  met  with  some  harm. 
I  pray  you  give  me  a  cup  of  wine,  that  I  may  drink 
in  the  saddle  to  you  and  my  httle  brother.  I  would 
stay  longer,  but  may  not  linger." 

Elfrida  returned  for  the  wine,  and  as  she  did  so 


28  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

whispered  a  few  words  to  an  armed  man  in  the  castle 
hall,  one  of  her  attendants  whom  she  could  trust. 
As  she  went  on,  this  man  slipped  out  in  the  gathering 
gloom  and  placed  himself  close  behind  the  king's 
horse. 

In  a  minute  more  Elfrida  reappeared,  wine-cup  in 
hand.  The  king  took  the  cup  and  raised  it  to  his  lips, 
looking  down  with  smiling  face  on  his  step-mother 
and  her  son,  who  smiled  their  love-greeting  back  to 
him.  At  this  instant  the  lurking  villain  in  the  rear 
sprang  up  and  buried  his  fatal  knife  in  the  king's 
back. 

Filled  M'ith  pain  and  horror,  Edward  involuntarily- 
dropped  the  cup  and  spurred  his  horse.  The  startled 
animal  sprang  forward,  Edward  clinging  to  his  saddle 
for  a  few  minutes,  but  soon,  faint  with  loss  of  blood, 
falling  to  the  earth,  while  one  of  his  feet  remained 
ftist  in  the  stirrup. 

The  frightened  horse  rushed  onward,  dragging  him 
over  the  rough  ground  until  death  put  an  end  to  his 
misery.  The  hunters,  seeking  the  king,  found  the 
track  of  his  blood,  and  traced  him  till  his  body  was 
discovered,  sadly  torn  and  disfigured. 

Meanwhile,  the  child  Ethelred  cried  out  so  pitifully 
at  the  frightful  tragedy  which  had  taken  place  before 
his  eyes,  that  his  heartless  mother  turned  her  rage 
ajrainst  him.  She  snatched  a  torch  from  one  of  the 
attendants  and  beat  him  unmercifully  for  his  uncon- 
trollable emotion. 

The  woman  a  second  time  had  won  her  game, — 
first,  by  compassing  the  murder  of  her  husband ; 
second,  by  ordering  the  murder  of  her  step-son.     It 


THE   WOOING  OF   ELFRIIU  29 

is  pleasant  to  say  that  she  profited  little  by  the  latter 
base  deed.  The  people  were  incensed  by  the  murder 
of  the  king,  and  Dunstan  resolved  that  Ethelred 
should  not  have  the  throne.  He  offered  it  to  Edgitha, 
the  daughter  of  Edgar.  But  that  lady  wisely  pre- 
ferred to  remain  in  the  convent  where  she  lived  in 
peace ;  so,  in  default  of  any  other  heir,  Ethelred  was 
put  upon  the  throne, — Ethelred  the  Unready,  as  ho 
came  afterwards  to  be  known. 

Elfrida  at  first  possessed  great  influence  over  her 
son ;  but  her  power  declined  as  he  grew  older,  and  iu 
the  end  she  retired  from  the  court,  built  monasteries 
and  performed  penances,  in  hopes  of  providing  a 
refuge  for  her  pious  soul  in  heaven,  since  all  men  hated 
her  upon  the  earth. 

As  regards  Edward,  his  tragical  death  so  aroused 
the  sympathy  of  the  people  that  they  named  him 
the  Martyr,  and  believed  that  miracles  were  wrought 
at  his  tomb.  It  cannot  be  said  that  his  murder  was 
in  any  sense  a  martyrdom,  but  the  men  of  that  day 
did  not  draw  fine  lines  of  distinction,  and  Edward 
the  Martyr  he  remains. 


KING  ALFRED  AND  THE  DANES, 

In  his  royal  villa  at  Chippenham,  on  the  left  bank 
of  the  gently-flowing  Avon,  sat  King  Alfred,  buried 
in  his  books.  It  was  the  evening  of  the  6th  of  Jan- 
uary, in  the  year  878,  a  thousand  years  and  more 
backward  in  time.  The  first  of  English  kings  to 
whom  a  book  had  a  meaning, — and  the  last  for  cen- 
turies afterwards, — Alfred,  the  young  monarch,  had 
an  insatiable  thirst  for  knowledge,  a  thirst  then  diffi- 
cult to  quell,  for  books  were  almost  as  rare  as  gold- 
mines in  that  day.  When  a  mere  child,  his  mother 
had  brought  to  him  and  his  brothers  a  handsomely 
illuminated  book,  saying, — 

"  I  will  give  this  to  that  one  of  you  four  princes 
who  first  learns  to  read." 

Alfred  won  the  book ;  so  far  as  we  know,  he  alone 
sought  to  win  it,  for  the  art  of  reading  in  those  early 
times  was  confined  to  monks,  and  disdained  by 
princes.  Ignorance  lay  like  a  dismal  cloud  over 
England,  ignorance  as  dense  as  the  heart  of  the 
Dark  Ages  knew.  In  the  whole  land  the  young 
prince  was  almost  alone  in  his  thirst  for  knowledge  ; 
and  when  he  made  an  effort  to  study  Latin,  in  which 
language  all  worthy  literature  was  then  written, 
there  could  not  be  found  throughout  the  length  and 
30 


KING  ALFRED  AND  THE  DANES.         31 

breadth  of  the  land  a  man  competent  to  teach  him 
that  Bcaled  tongue. 

When  little  more  than  a  boy  Alfred  became  king. 
There  was  left  him  then  little  time  for  study,  for  the 
Danes,  whose  ships  had  long  been  descending  in 
annual  raids  on  England's  shores,  gave  the  youthful 
monarch  an  abundance  of  more  active  service.  For 
years  he  fought  them,  yet  in  his  despite  Guthrum, 
one  of  their  ablest  chiefs,  sailed  up  the  Severn, 
seized  upon  a  wide  region  of  the  realm  of  "Wessex, 
made  Gloucester  his  capital,  and  defied  the  feebly- 
supported  English  king. 

It  was  midwinter  now,  a  season  which  the  Danes 
usually  spent  in  rest  and  revelry,  and  in  which  Eng- 
land gained  some  relief  from  their  devastating  raids. 
Alfred,  dreaming  of  aught  but  war,  was  at  home 
with  his  slender  store  of  much-beloved  books  in  his 
villa  at  Chippenham.  With  him  were  a  few  of  his 
thanes  and  a  small  body  of  anned  attendants,  their 
enjoyment  the  pleasures  of  the  chase  and  the  rude 
sports  of  that  early  period.  Doubtless,  what  they 
deemed  the  womanish  or  monkish  tastes  of  their 
young  monarch  were  objects  of  scorn  and  ridicule  to 
those  hardy  thanes,  upon  whom  ignorance  lay  like  a 
thick  garment.  Yet  Alfred  could  fight  as  well  as 
read.  They  might  disdain  his  pursuits ;  they  must 
respect  his  prowess. 

While  the  king  lay  thus  in  ease  at  Chippenham,  his 
enemies  at  Gloucester  seemed  lost  in  enjoyment  of 
their  spoils.  Guthrum  had  divided  the  surrounding 
lands  among  his  victorious  followers,  the  Saxons  had 
been  di'iven  out,  slain,  or  enslaved,  and   the  brutal 


32  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

and  barbarous  victors  dwelt  in  peace  and  revelry  on 
their  new  lands,  spending  the  winter  in  riot  and 
wassail,  and  waiting  for  the  spring-time  budding  of 
the  trees  to  renew  the  war  with  their  Saxon  foes. 

Not  so  with  Guthrum.  He  had  sw-orn  revenge  on 
the  Saxons.  Years  before,  his  father,  a  mighty  chief- 
tain, Eagnar  by  name,  had  fallen  in  a  raid  on  Eng- 
land. His  sons  had  vowed  to  Odin  to  wash  out  the 
memory  of  his  death  in  English  blood,  and  Guthrum 
now  determined  to  take  advantage  of  the  midwinter 
season  for  a  sudden  and  victorious  march  upon  his 
unsuspecting  enemy.  If  he  could  seize  Alfred  in  his 
palace,  the  war  might  be  brought  to  an  end,  and  Eng- 
land won,  at  a  single  blow. 

If  we  can  take  ourselves  back  in  fancy  to  New- 
Year's  day  of  878,  and  to  an  open  plain  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  Gloucester,  we  shall  see  there  the  planted 
standard  of  Guthrum  floating  in  the  wind,  while  from 
every  side  armed  horsemen  are  riding  into  the  sur- 
rounding space.  They  know  not  why  they  come.  A 
hasty  summons  has  been  sent  them  to  meet  their 
chieftain  here  on  this  day,  armed  and  mounted,  and, 
loyal  to  their  leader,  and  ever  ready  for  war,  they 
ride  hastily  in,  until  the  Danish  champion  finds  him- 
self surrounded  by  a  strong  force  of  hardy  warriors, 
eager  to  learn  the  cause  of  this  midwinter  summons. 

"  It  is  war,"  said  Guthrum  to  his  chiefs.  "  I  have 
sworn  to  have  England,  and  England  shall  be  mine. 
The  Saxons  are  scattered  and  at  rest,  not  dreaming 
of  battle  and  blood.  Now  is  our  time.  A  hard  and 
sudden  blow  will  end  the  war,  and  the  fair  isle  of 
England  will  bo  the  Raven's  spoil." 


KINO   ALFRED   AND   THE   DANES.  33 

We  may  still  hear  in  fancy  the  wild  shouts  of 
approval  with  which  this  stirring  declaration  was 
heard.  Visions  of  slaughter,  plunder,  and  rich  do- 
mains filled  the  souls  of  chiefs  and  men  alike,  and 
their  eagerness  to  take  to  the  field  was  such  that 
they  could  barely  wait  to  hear  their  leader's  plans. 

"  Alfred,  the  Saxon  king,  must  be  ours,"  said  Guth- 
rum.  "  lie  is  the  one  man  I  dread  in  all  the  Saxon 
hosts.  They  have  manj^  hands,  but  only  one  head. 
Let  us  seize  the  head,  and  the  hands  are  useless. 
Alfred  is  at  Chippenham.  Thither  let  us  ride  at 
Bpecd." 

Their  bands  were  mustered,  their  arms  examined, 
and  food  for  the  expedition  prepared,  and  then  to 
horse  and  away  I  Headlong  over  the  narrow  and 
forest-bordered  roads  of  that  day  rode  the  host  of 
Danes,  iu  triumphant  expectation  of  victory  and 
spoil. 

In  his  study  sat  Alfred,  on  the  night  of  January 
6,  poring  over  an  illuminated  page ;  or  mayhap  he 
was  deep  in  learned  consultation  with  some  monkish 
scholar,  mayhap  presiding  at  a  feast  of  his  thanes: 
we  may  fancy  what  we  will,  for  history  or  legend 
fails  to  tell  us  how  he  was  engaged  on  that  critical 
evening  of  his  life. 

But  we  may  imagine  a  wide-eyed  Saxon  sontinel, 
Beared  and  hasty,  breaking  upon  the  mouarchV 
leisure  with  the  wild  alarm-crj', — 

"  Up  and  away, my  king!  The  Danes  are  coming! 
hosts  of  them,  armed  and  horsed !     Up  and  away !" 

Hardly  had  he  sfoken  before  the  hoof-beats  of 
the  advancing  foe  wore  heard.  On  they  came,  ex- 
II. — a 


34  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

tending  their  lines  as  they  rode  at  headlong  speed, 
hoping  to  surround  the  villa  and  seize  the  king  be- 
fore the  alarm  could  be  given. 

They  were  too  late.  Alfred  was  quick  to  hear,  to 
heed,  and  to  act.  Forest  bordered  the  villa;  hito 
the  forest  he  dashed,  his  followers  following  in  tu« 
multuous  haste.  The  Danes  made  what  haste  the 
obstructions  in  their  way  permitted.  In  a  few  min- 
utes they  had  swept  round  the  villa,  with  ringing 
shouts  of  triumph.  In  a  few  minutes  more  they 
were  treading  its  deserted  halls,  Guthrum  at  their 
head,  furious  to  find  that  his  hoped-for  prey  had 
vanished  and  left  him  but  the  empty  shell  of  his 
late  home. 

"After  him!"  cried  the  furious  Dane.  "He  can- 
not be  far.  This  place  is  full  of  signs  of  life.  He 
has  fled  into  the  forest.  After  him  !  A  king's  prize 
for  the  man  who  seizes  him." 

In  vain  their  search,  the  flying  king  knew  his  own 
woods  too  well  to  be  overtaken  by  the  Danes.  Yet 
their  far  cries  filled  his  ears,  and  roused  him  to 
thoughts  of  desperate  resistance.  He  looked  around 
on  his  handful  of  valiant  followers. 

"  Let  us  face  them !"  he  cried,  in  hot  anger.  "  We 
are  few,  but  we  fight  for  our  homes.  Let  us  meet 
these  baying  hounds !" 

*'  No,  no,"  answBred  the  wisest  of  his  thanes.  "  It 
would  be  worse  than  rash,  it  would  be  madness. 
They  are  twenty — a  hundred,  mayhap — to  our  one. 
Let  us  fly  now,  that  we  may  fight  hereafter.  All  ia 
not  lost  while  our  king  is  free,  and  we  to  aid  him." 

Alfred  was  quick  to  see  the  wisdom  of  this  advice. 


KING  ALFRED  AND  THE  DANES.         35 

IIo  must  bido  his  time.  To  strike  now  might  be  to 
lose  all.  To  wait  might  be  to  gain  uU.  lio  turned 
■with  a  meaning  look  to  his  faithful  thanes. 

"  In  sooth,  you  speak  well,"  he  said.  "  The  wisdom 
of  the  fox  is  now  better  than  the  courage  of  the 
lion.  Wo  must  part  here.  The  land  for  the  time  is 
the  Danes'.  We  cannot  hinder  them.  They  will 
search  homestead  and  woodland  for  me.  Before  a 
fortnight's  end  they  will  have  swarmed  over  all 
Wessex,  and  Guthrum  will  be  lord  of  the  land.  I 
admire  that  man ;  he  is  more  than  a  barbarian,  he 
knows  the  art  of  war.  He  shall  learn  yet  that 
Alfred  is  his  match.     We  must  part." 

"Part?"  said  the  thanes,  looking  at  him  in  doubt. 
"  Wherefore  ?" 

"I  must  seek  safety  alone  and  in  disguise.  There 
are  not  enough  of  you  to  help  me ;  there  are  enough 
to  betray  me  to  suspicion.  Go  your  ways,  good 
friends.  Save  yourselves.  We  will  meet  again  be- 
fore many  weeks  to  strike  a  blow  for  our  countrj'-. 
But  the  time  is  not  yet." 

History  speaks  not  from  the  depths  of  that  wood- 
land whither  Alfred  had  fled  with  his  thanes.  Wo 
cannot  say  if  just  these  words  were  spoken,  but  such 
was  the  purport  of  their  discourse.  They  separated, 
the  thanes  and  their  followers  to  seek  their  homos  ; 
Alfred,  disguised  as  a  peasant,  to  thread  field  and 
forest  on  foot  towards  a  place  of  retreat  which  he 
had  fixed  upon  in  his  mind.  Not  even  to  the  fi\ith- 
fullest  of  his  thanes  did  he  tell  the  secret  of  his 
abode.  For  the  present  it  must  be  known  to  nouo 
but  himself. 


36  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Meanwhile,  the  cavalry  of  Guthrum  were  raidiug 
the  country  far  and  wide.  Alfred  had  escaped,  but 
England  lay  helpless  in  their  grasp.  News  travelled 
slowly  in  those  days.  Everywhere  the  Saxons  first 
learned  of  the  war  by  hearing  the  battle-cry  of  the 
Danes.  The  land  was  overrun.  England  seemed 
losi.  Its  only  hope  of  safety  lay  in  a  man  who 
would  not  acknowledge  defeat,  a  monarch  who  could 
bide  his  time. 

The  lonely  journey  of  the  king  led  him  to  the 
centre  of  Somersetshire.  Here,  at  the  confluence 
of  the  Tone  and  the  Parret,  was  a  small  island, 
afterwards  known  as  Ethelingay,  or  Prince's  Island. 
Around  it  spread  a  wide  morass,  little  likely  to  be 
crossed  by  his  pursuers.  Here,  still  disguised,  the 
fugitive  king  sought  a  refuge  from  his  foes. 

For  several  months  Alfred  remained  in  this  re- 
treat, his  place  of  refuge  during  part  of  the  time 
being  in  the  hut  of  a  swineherd ;  and  thereupon 
hangs  a  tale.  Whether  or  not  the  worthy  herdsman 
knew  his  king,  certainly  the  weighty  secret  was  not 
known  to  his  wife.  One  day,  while  Alfred  sat  by 
the  fire,  his  hands  busy  with  his  bow  and  arrows, 
his  head  mayhap  busy  with  plans  against  the  Danes, 
the  good  woman  of  the  house  was  engaged  in  baking 
cakes  on  the  hearth. 

Having  to  leave  the  hut  for  a  few  minutes,  she 
turned  to  her  guest,  and  curtly  bade  him  watch  the 
l&i^ces,  to  see  that  they  did  not  get  overdone. 

"  Trust  me  for  that,"  he  said. 

She  left  the  room.  The  cakes  smoked  on  the 
hearth,  yet  he  saw   them  not.     The  goodw'fe  ro» 


KING   ALFRED   AND   THE   DANES.  37 

turned  in  a  brief  space,  to  find  her  guest  buried  in 
a  deep  study,  and  her  cakes  burned  to  a  cinder. 

"  What !"  she  cried,  with  an  outburst  of  termagant 
Bpleen,  "  I  warrant  you  will  be  ready  enough  to  eat 
them  by-and-by,  you  idle  dog!  and  yet  you  cannot 
Avatch  them  burning  under  your  very  eyes." 

What  the  king  said  in  reply  the  tradition  which  has 
preserved  this  pleasant  tale  fails  to  relate.  Doubtless 
it  needed  some  of  the  swineherd's  eloquence  to  induce 
his  irate  wife  to  bake  a  fresh  supply  for  their  careless 
guest. 

It  had  been  Guthrura's  main  purpose,  as  we  may 
be  assured,  in  his  rapid  ride  to  Chippenham,  to  seize 
the  king.  In  this  he  had  failed  ;  but  the  remainder 
of  his  project  went  successfully  forward.  Through 
Dorset,  Berkshire,  Wilts,  and  Hampshire  rode  his 
men,  forcing  the  people  everywhere  to  submit.  The 
country  was  thinly  settled,  none  knew  the  fate  of 
the  king,  resistance  would  have  been  destruction 
they  bent  before  the  storm,  hoping  by  yielding  to 
save  their  lives  and  some  portion  of  their  property 
from  the  barbarian  foe.  Those  near  the  coast  crossed 
with  their  families  and  movable  effects  to  Gaul. 
Elsewhere  submission  was  general,  except  in  Somer- 
setshire, where  alone  a  body  of  faithful  warriors, 
lurking  in  the  woods,  kept  in  arms  against  the  in- 
vaders. 

Alfred's  secret  could  not  yet  be  safely  revealed. 
Guthrum  had  not  given  over  his  search  for  him. 
Yet  some  of  the  more  trusty  of  his  subjects  were 
told  where  he  might  be  found,  and  a  small  band  joined 
him  in  his  morass-guarded  isle.     Gradually  tho  news 

4 


38  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

spread,  and  others  sought  the  isle  of  Ethelingay, 
until  a  well-armed  and  sturdy  band  of  followers 
surrounded  the  royal  fugitive.  This  party  must  be 
fed.  The  island  yielded  Httle  subsistence.  The  king 
was  obliged  to  make  foraging  raids  from  his  hiding- 
place.  Now  and  then  he  rabt  and  defeated  straggling 
parties  of  Danes,  taking  from  them  their  spoils.  At 
other  times,  when  hard  need  pressed,  he  was  forced 
to  forage  on  his  own  subjects. 

Day  by  day  the  news  went  wider  through  Saxon 
homes,  and  more  warriors  sought  their  king.  As  the 
strength  of  his  band  increased,  Alfred  made  more 
frequent  and  successful  forays.  The  Danes  began 
to  find  that  resistance  was  not  at  an  end.  By  Easter 
the  king  felt  strong  enough  to  take  a  more  decided 
action.  He  had  a  wooden  bridge  thrown  from  tho 
island  to  the  shore,  to  facilitate  the  movements  of 
his  followers,  while  at  its  entrance  was  built  a  fort, 
to  protect  the  island  party  against  a  Danish  incursion. 

Such  was  the  state  of  Alfred's  fortunes  and  of 
England's  hopes  in  the  spring  of  878.  Three  months 
before,  all  southern  England,  with  the  exception  of 
Gloucester  and  its  surrounding  lands,  had  been  his. 
Now  his  kingdom  was  a  small  island  in  the  heart  of 
a  morass,  his  subjects  a  lurking  band  of  faithful 
warriors,  his  subsistence  what  could  be  wrested  from 
the  strong  hands  of  the  foe. 

While  matters  went  thus  in  Somerset,  a  storm  of 
war  gathered  in  Wales.  Another  of  Eagnar's  sons, 
Ubbo  by  name,  had  landed  on  the  Welsh  coast,  and, 
carrying  everything  before  him,  was  marching  inland 
to  join  his  victorious  brother. 


KING   ALFRED  AND   TUB   DANES.  39 

He  was  too  strong  for  the  Saxons  of  that  quarter 
to  make  head  against  him  in  the  open  field.  Odun, 
the  valiant  ealderman  who  led  them,  fled,  with  his 
thanes  and  their  followers,  to  the  castle  of  Kwineth, 
a  stronghold  defended  only  by  a  loose  wall  of  stones, 
in  the  Saxon  fashion.  But  the  fortress  occupied  the 
summit  of  a  lofty  rock,  ana  bade  defiance  to  assault. 
Ubbo  saw  this.  He  saw,  also,  that  water  must  be 
wanting  on  that  steep  rock.  He  pitched  his  tenta 
at  its  foot,  and  waited  till  thirst  should  compel  a 
sui'render  of  the  garrison. 

He  was  to  find  that  it  is  not  always  wise  to  cut 
off  the  supplies  of  a  beleaguered  foe.  Despair  aids 
courage.  A  day  came  in  the  seige  in  which  Odun, 
grown  desperate,  left  his  defences  before  dawn,  glided 
silently  down  the  hill  with  his  men,  and  fell  so  im- 
petuously upon  the  Danish  host  that  the  chief  and 
twelve  hundred  of  his  followers  were  slain,  and  tho 
rest  driven  in  panic  to  their  ships.  The  camp,  rich 
with  the  spoil  of  Wales,  fell  into  the  victors'  hands, 
while  their  trophies  included  the  great  Eaven  stand- 
ard of  the  Danes,  said  to  have  been  woven  in  one 
noontide  by  Eagnai-'s  three  daughters.  This  was  a 
loss  that  presaged  defeat  to  the  Danes,  for  they  were 
superstitious  concerning  this  standard.  If  the  raven 
appeared  to  flap  its  wings  when  going  into  battle, 
victory  seemed  to  them  assured.  If  it  hung  motion- 
less, defeat  was  feared.  Its  loss  must  have  been 
deemed  fatal. 

Tidings  of  this  Saxon  victory  flew  as  if  upon 
wings  throughout  England,  and  everywhere  infused 
new  spirit  into  the  hearts  of  tho  people,  new  hope 


40  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

of  recovering  their  country  from  the  invading  foo. 
To  Alfred  the  news  brought  a  heart-tide  of  joy. 
The  time  for  action  was  at  hand.  Recruits  came  to 
him  daily ;  fresh  life  was  in  his  people ;  trusty  mes 
sengers  from  Ethelingay  sought  the  thanes  through- 
out the  land,  and  bade  them,  with  their  followers,  to 
join  the  king  at  Egbert,  on  the  eastern  border  of 
Selwood  forest,  in  the  seventh  week  after  Easter. 

Guihrum,  meanwhile,  was  not  idle.  The  frequent 
raids  in  mid-Somersetshire  had  taught  him  where 
his  royal  enemy  might  be  found.  Action,  immediate 
and  decisive,  was  necessary,  or  Alfred  would  be  again 
in  the  field  with  a  Saxon  army,  and  the  fruits  of  the 
Buccessful  midwinter  raid  be  lost.  Messengers  were 
sent  in  haste  to  call  in  the  scattered  Danish  bands, 
and  a  fortified  camp  was  formed  in  a  strong  place 
in  the  vicinity  of  Ethelingay,  whence  a  concerted 
movement  might  be  made  upon  the  lurking  foe. 

The  time  fixed  for  the  gathering  of  the  Saxon  host 
was  at  hand.  It  was  of  high  importance  that  the  num- 
bers and  disposition  of  the  Danes  should  be  learned. 
The  king,  if  we  may  trust  tradition,  now  undertook 
an  adventure  that  has  ever  since  been  classed  among 
the  choicest  treasures  of  romance.  The  duty  de- 
manded was  too  important  to  trust  to  any  doubtful 
hands.  Alfred  determined  himself  to  venture  within 
the  camp  of  the  Danes,  observe  how  they  were  forti- 
fied and  how  arranged,  and  use  this  vital  information 
when  the  time  for  battle  came. 

The  enterprise  was  less  desperate  than  might 
seem.  Alfred's  form  and  face  Avere  little  known  to 
his  enemies.     lie  was  a  skilful  harper.     The  gle^ 


KINO   ALFRED   AND   THE   DANES.  4l 

man  in  those  days  was  a  privileged  person,  allied  to 
no  party,  free  to  wander  where  ho  would,  ajid  to 
twang  his  harp-strings  in  any  camp,  llo  might  look 
for  welcome  from  friend  and  foe. 

Dressed  in  Danish  garb,  and  bearing  the  minstrel's 
harp,  the  daring  king  boldly  sought  and  entered  the 
camp  of  the  invaders,  his  coming  greeted  with  joy  by 
the  Danish  warriors,  who  loved  martial  music  as  they 
loved  war. 

Songs  of  Danish  prowess  fell  from  the  disguised 
minstrel's  lips,  to  the  delight  of  his  audience.  In  the 
end  Guthrum  and  his  chiefs  heard  report  of  the 
coming  of  this  skilled  glee-man,  and  ordered  that  ho 
should  be  brought  to  the  great  tent,  where  they  sat 
carousing,  in  hopeful  anticipation  of  coming  victory. 

Alfred,  nothing  loath,  sought  Guthrum's  tent, 
where,  with  stirring  songs  of  the  old  heroes  of  their 
land,  he  flattered  the  ears  of  the  chiefs,  M'ho  ap- 
plauded him  to  the  echo,  and  at  times  broke  into  wild 
refrains  to  his  warlike  odes.  All  that  passed  we  can- 
not say.  The  story  is  told  by  tradition  only,  and 
tradition  is  not  to  be  trusted  for  details.  Doubtless, 
when  the  roj'al  spy  slipped  from  the  camp  of  his 
foes  he  bore  with  him  an  accurate  mind-picture  of 
the  numbers,  the  discipline,  and  the  arrangement  of 
the  Danish  force,  which  would  be  of  the  highest 
value  in  the  coming  fray. 

Meanwhile,  the  Saxon  hosts  were  gathering.  When 
the  day  fixed  by  the  king  arrived  they  were  there: 
men  from  Hampshire,  Wiltshire,  Devonshire,  and 
Somerset;  men  in  smaller  numbers  from  other  coun- 
ties;  all  glad  to  learn  that  England  was  on  its  feet 
4* 


42  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

again,  all  filled  with  joy  to  see  their  king  in  the  field. 
Theh' shouts  filled  the  leafy  alleys  of  the  forest,  they 
hailed  the  king  as  the  land's  avenger,  every  heart 
beat  high  with  assurance  of  victory.  Before  night 
of  the  day  of  meeting  the  woodland  camp  was  over- 
crowded with  armed  men,  and  at  dawn  of  the  next 
day  Alfred  led  them  to  a  place  named  Icglea,  where, 
on  the  forest's  edge,  a  broad  plain  spread  with  a  mo- 
rass on  its  front.  All  day  long  volunteers  came  to 
the  camp  ;  by  night  Alfred  had  an  army  in  open 
field,  in  place  of  the  guerilla  band  with  which,  two 
days  before,  he  had  lurked  in  the  green  aisles  of  Sel- 
wood  forest,  Hke  a  Eobin  Hood  of  an  earlier  day, 
making  the  verdant  depths  of  the  greenwood  dales 
his  home. 

At  dawn  of  the  next  day  the  king  marshalled  his 
men  in  battle  ari-ay,  and  occujjied  the  summit  of 
Ethandune,  a  lofty  eminence  in  the  vicinity  of  his 
camp.  The  Danes,  fiery  with  barbaric  valor,  boldly 
advanced,  and  the  two  armies  met  in  fierce  affray, 
shouting  their  war-cries,  discharging  arrows  and 
hurling  javelins,  and  rushing  like  wolves  of  war  to 
the  closer  and  more  deadly  hand-to-hand  combat  of 
Bword  and  axe,  of  the  shock  of  the  contending  forces, 
the  hoj^es  and  fears  of  victory  and  defeat,  the  deeds 
of  desperate  valor,  the  mighty  achievements  of  noted 
chiefs,  on  that  hard-fought  field  no  Homer  has  sung, 
and  they  must  remain  untold.  All  we  know  is  that 
the  Danes  fought  with  desperate  valor,  the  English 
with  a  courage  inspired  by  revenge,  fear  of  slavery, 
thirst  for  liberty,  and  the  undaunted  resolution  of  men 
whose  every  blow  was  struck  for  home  and  fireside. 


KING  ALFRED  AND  THE  DANES.         43 

In  the  end  patriotism  prevailed  over  the  baser 
instinct  of  piracy;  the  Danes  were  defeated,  and 
driven  in  tumultuous  hosts  to  their  intrenched  camp, 
falling  in  multitudes  as  they  fled,  for  the  incensed 
English  laid  aside  all  thought  of  mercy  in  the  hot 
fury  of  pursuit. 

Only  Avhcn  within  the  shelter  of  his  works  was 
Guthrum  able  to  make  head  against  his  victorious 
foe.  The  camp  seemed  too  strong  to  be  taken  by 
assault,  nor  did  Alfred  care  to  immolate  his  men 
while  a  safer  and  surer  expedient  remained.  He  had 
made  himself  fully  familiar  with  its  formation,  knew 
well  its  weak  and  strong  points  and  its  sparseness  of 
supplies,  and  wilhout  loss  of  time  spread  his  Ibrces 
round  it,  besieging  it  so  closely  that  not  a  Dane  could 
escape.  For  fourteen  days  the  siege  went  on,  Al- 
fred's army,  no  doubt,  daily  increasing,  that  of  his 
foe  wasting  away  before  the  ceaseless  flight  of  arrows 
and  javelins. 

Guthrum  was  in  despair.  Famine  threatened  him. 
Escape  was  impossible.  Hardly  a  bird  could  have 
fled  unseen  through  the  English  lines.  At  the  end 
of  the  fortnight  he  yielded,  and  asked  for  terms  of 
surrender.  The  war  was  at  an  end.  England  was 
saved. 

Ir.  his  moment  of  victory  Alfred  proved  generous. 
He  gave  the  Danes  an  abiding-])lace  upon  English 
soil,  on  condition  that  they  should  dwell  there  as  his 
vassals.  To  this  they  were  to  bind  themselves  by 
oath  and  the  giving  of  hostages.  Another  condition 
was  that  Guthrum  and  his  leading  chiefs  should  give 
up  their  pagan  faith  and  embrace  Christianity. 


4i  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

To  these  terms  the  Danish  leader  acceded.  A  few 
weeks  after  the  fight  Aubre,  near  Athehiey,  A?vas  the 
scene  of  the  baptizal  of  Guthrum  and  thirty  of  his 
chiefs.  His  heathen  title  had  added  to  it  the  Saxon 
name  of  Athelstan,  Alfred  standing  sponsor  to  the 
new  convert  to  the  Christian  faith.  Eight  days 
afterwards  Guthrum  laid  off  the  white  robe  and  chrys- 
mal  fillet  of  his  new  faith,  and  in  twelve  days  bade 
adieu  to  his  victorious  foe,  now,  to  all  seeming,  his 
dearest  friend.  What  sum  of  Christian  faith  the 
baptized  heathen  took  with  him  to  the  new  lands 
assigned  him  it  would  be  rash  to  say. 

The  treaty  of  Wedmore  freed  southern  England 
from  the  Danes.  The  shores  of  Wessex  were  teased 
now  and  then  by  after-descents,  but  these  incursions 
were  swept  away  like  those  of  stinging  hornets.  In 
894  a  fleet  of  three  hundred  ships  invaded  the  realm, 
but  they  met  a  crushing  defeat.  The  king  was  given 
some  leisure  to  pursue  those  studies  to  which  his 
mind  so  strongly  inclined,  and  to  carry  forward 
measures  for  the  education  of  his  people  by  the  es- 
tablishment of  schools  which,  like  those  of  Charle- 
mao-ne  in  France,  vanished  before  he  was  fairly  in 
the  gi-ave.  This  noble  knight  died  in  901,  nearly 
a  thousand  years  ago,  after  having  proved  himself 
one  of  the  ablest  warriors  and  most  advanced  minda 
that  ever  occupied  the  English  throne. 


THE  END  OF  SAXON  ENGLAND, 

"We  have  two  pictures  to  draw,  preliminary  scenes 
to  the  fatal  battle  of  Hastings  Hill.  The  first  belongs 
to  the  morning  of  September  25,  1066.  At  Stamford 
Bridge,  on  the  Derwent  River,  lay  encamped  a  stal- 
wart host,  that  of  Harold  Hardrada,  king  of  Norway. 
With  him  was  Tostig,  rebel  brother  of  King  Hai'old 
of  England,  w'ho  had  brought  this  army  of  strangers 
into  the  land.     On  the  river  near  by  lay  their  ships. 

Here  Harold  found  them,  a  formidable  force,  drawn 
up  in  a  circle,  the  line  marked  out  by  shining  spears. 
The  English  king  had  marched  hither  in  all  haste 
from  the  coast,  where  he  had  been  awaiting  the 
coming  of  William  of  Normandy.  Tostig,  the  rebel 
son  of  Godwin,  had  brought  ruin  upon  the  land. 

Before  the  battle  commenced,  twenty  horsemen 
rode  out  from  Harold's  vanguard  and  moved  towards 
the  foe,  Harold,  the  king,  rode  at  their  head.  As 
they  drew  near  they  saw  a  leader  of  the  opposing 
host,  chid  in  a  blue  mantle  and  wearing  a  shining 
helmet,  fall  to  the  earth  through  the  stumbling  of 
his  horse. 

"  Who  is  the  man  that  fell?"  asked  Harold. 

"  The  king  of  Norway,"  answered  one  of  his 
companions. 

46 


46  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

'•He  is  a  tall  and  stately  warrior,"  answered  Har- 
old, "  but  his  end  is  near." 

Then,  under  command  of  the  king,  one  of  his 
noble  followers  rode  up  to  the  ojiposing  line  and 
called  out, — 

"  Is  Tostig,  the  son  of  Godwin,  here  ?" 

"  It  would  be  wrong  to  say  he  is  not,"  answered 
the  rebel  Englishman,  stepping  into  view. 

The  herald  then  begged  him  to  make  peace  with 
his  brother,  saying  that  it  was  dreadful  that  two 
men,  sons  of  the  same  mother,  should  be  in  arms 
against  each  other. 

"  What  will  Harold  give  me  if  I  make  peace  with 
him  ?"  asked  Tostig. 

"  He  will  give  you  a  brother's  love  and  make  you 
carl  of  JSTorthumberland." 

"  And  what  will  he  give  to  my  friend,  the  king  of 
ISTorway  ?" 

"  Seven  feet  of  earth  for  a  grave,"  was  the  grim 
answer  of  the  envoy ;  "  or,  as  he  seems  a  very  tall 
man,  perhaps  a  foot  or  two  more." 

"  Eide  back,  then,"  said  Tostig,  "  and  bid  Harold 
make  ready  for  battle.  Whatever  happens,  it  shall 
never  be  said  of  Tostig  that  he  basely  gave  up  the 
friend  who  had  helped  him  in  time  of  need." 

The  fight  began, — and  quickly  ended.  Hardrada 
fought  like  a  giant,  but  an  arrow  in  his  throat  brought 
him  dead  to  the  ground.  Tostig  fell  also,  and  many 
other  chiefs.  The  Northmen,  disheartened,  yielded. 
Harold  gave  them  easy  terms,  bidding  them  take 
their  ships  and  sail  again  to  the  land  whence  they 
had  come. 


THE  END  OF  SAXON  ENGLAND.         47 

This  "warlike  picture  on  the  land  may  be  matched 
by  one  upon  the  sea.  Over  the  waves  of  the  English 
Channel  moved  a  single  ship,  such  a  one  as  has  rarely 
been  seen  upon  those  waters.  Its  sails  were  of  dif- 
ferent bright  colors;  the  vanes  at  the  mast-heada 
were  gilded ;  the  three  lions  of  Normandy  wei-e 
painted  here  and  there;  the  figure-head  was  a  child 
with  a  bent  bow,  its  arrow  pointed  towards  the  land 
of  England.  At  the  mainmast-head  floated  a  conse- 
crated banner,  which  had  been  sent  from  Rome. 

It  was  the  ship  of  William  of  Normandy,  alone 
upon  the  waves.  Three  thousand  vessels  in  all  had 
left  with  it  the  shores  of  France,  six  or  seven  hundred 
of  them  large  in  size.  Now,  day  was  breaking,  and 
the  king's  ship  was  alone.  The  others  had  vanished 
in  the  night. 

William  ordered  a  sailor  to  the  mast-head  to  report 
on  what  he  could  see. 

"  I  see  nothing  but  the  water  and  the  sky,"  came 
the  lookout's  cry  from  above. 

"  We  have  outsailed  them ;  we  must  lay  to,"  said 
the  duke. 

Breakfast  was  served,  with  warm  spiced  wine,  to 
keep  the  crew  in  good  heart.  After  it  was  over  the 
Bailor  was  again  sent  aloft. 

"I  can  see  four  ships,  low  down  in  the  offing,"  ho 
proclaimed. 

A  tliird  time  he  was  sent  to  the  mast-head.  ITis 
voice  now  came  to  those  on  deck  filled  with  merry 
cheer. 

"  Now  I  see  a  forest  of  masts  and  sails,"  he  cried. 

Within  a  few  hours  afterwards  the  Normans  were 


48  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

landing  in  Pevensey  Bay,  on  the  Sussex  coast. 
Harold  had  been  drawn  off  by  the  invasion  in  the 
north,  and  the  new  invaders  were  free  to  land. 
Duke  William  was  among  the  first.  As  he  set  foot 
on  shoi-e  he  stumbled  and  fell.  The  hearts  of  his 
knights  fell  with  him,  for  they  deemed  this  an  un- 
lucky sign.  But  William  had  that  ready  wit  which 
turns  ill  into  good  fortune.  Grasping  two  handfuls 
of  the  soil,  he  hastily  rose,  saying,  cheerily,  "  Thus 
do  I  seize  upon  the  land  of  England." 

Meanwhile,  Harold  was  feasting,  after  his  victory, 
at  York.  As  he  sat  there  with  his  captains,  a  stir 
was  heard  at  the  doors,  and  in  rushed  a  messenger, 
booted  and  spurred,  and  covered  with  dust  from 
riding  fast  and  far. 

"  The  Normans  have  come !"  was  his  cry.  "  They 
have  landed  at  Pevensey  Bay.  They  are  out  already, 
harrying  the  land.  Smoke  and  fire  are  the  beacons 
of  their  march." 

That  feast  came  to  a  sudden  end.  Soon  Harold 
and  his  men  were  in  full  march  for  London.  Here 
recruits  were  gathered  in  all  haste.  Within  a  week 
the  English  king  was  marching  towaias  wuei-w  the 
Normans  lay  encamped.  He  was  counselled  to 
remain  and  gather  more  men,  leaving  some  one  else 
to  lead  his  army. 

"Not  so,"  he  replied;  "an  English  king  must 
never  turn  his  back  to  the  enemy." 

We  have  now  a  third  picture  to  draw,  and  a  great 
one, — that  of  the  mighty  and  momentous  conflict 
which  ended  in  the  death  of  the  last  of  the  Saxon 
kings,  and  the  Norman  conquest  of  England. 


THE  END  OP  SAXON  ENGLAND.         49 

Tho  force  of  William  greatly  outnumbered  that  of 
Harold.  It  comprised  about  sixty  thousand  men, 
while  Harold  had  but  twenty  or  thirty  thousand. 
And  the  Xormans  were  more  powerfully  armed,  the 
English  having  few  archers,  while  many  of  them 
were  hasty  recruits  who  bore  only  pitchforks  and 
other  tools  of  their  daily  toil.  Tho  English  king, 
therefore,  did  not  dare  to  meet  the  heavily-armed 
and  mail-clad  Normans  in  the  open  field.  Wisely  ho 
led  his  men  to  tho  hill  of  Senlac,  near  Hastings,  a 
Bpot  now  occupied  by  the  small  town  of  Battle,  so 
named  in  memory  of  the  great  fight.  Here  he  built 
intrenchments  of  earth,  stones,  and  tree-trunks,  be- 
hind which  he  waited  the  Norman  assault.  Marshy 
ground  covered  the  English  right.  In  front,  at  tho 
most  exposed  position,  stood  the  "  huscarls,"  or  body- 
guard, of  Harold,  men  clad  in  mail  and  armed  with 
great  battle-axes,  their  habit  being  to  interlock  their 
shields  like  a  wall.  In  their  midst  stood  the  standard 
of  Harold, — with  the  figure  of  a  warrior  worked  in 
gold  and  gems,-^and  beside  it  the  Golden  Dragon  of 
Wessex,  a  banner  of  ancient  fame.  Back  of  them 
wore  crowded  tho  half-armed  rustics  who  made  up 
tho  remainder  of  the  army. 

Duke  William  had  sought,  by  ravaging  the  land, 
to  bring  Harold  to  an  engagement.  He  had  until 
now  subsisted  by  plunder.  He  was  now  obliged  to 
concentrate  his  forces.  A  concentrated  army  cannot 
feed  by  pillage.  There  was  but  one  thing  for  the 
Norman  leader  to  do.  He  must  attack  the  foe  in 
his  strong  position,  with  victory  or  ruin  as  his  only 
alternatives. 

II. — c        d  6 


50  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

The  uight  before  the  battle  was  diflferently  passed 
by  the  two  armies.  The  Normans  spent  the  hours 
in  prayer  and  confession  to  their  priests.  13ishop 
Odo  celebrated  mass  on  the  field  as  day  dawned,  his 
white  episcopal  vestment  covering  a  coat  of  mail, 
while  war-horse  and  battle-axe  awaited  him  when 
the  benediction  should  be  spoken.  The  English,  ou 
their  side,  sat  round  their  watch-fires,  drinking  great 
horns  of  ale,  and  singing  warlike  lays,  as  their  custom 
for  centuries  had  been.  In  which  camp  was  the 
most  real  piety  none  less  than  a  saint  could  have 
told. 

Day  had  not  dawned  on  that  memorable  14th  of 
October,  of  the  year  10G6,  when  both  sides  were  in 
arms  and  busily  preparing  for  battle.  William  and 
Harold  alike  harangued  their  men  and  bade  them  do 
their  utmost  for  victory.  Euin  awaited  the  one  side, 
slavery  the  other,  if  defeat  fell  upon  their  banners. 

Wilham  rode  a  fine  Spanish  horse,  which  a  Nor- 
man had  brought  from  Galicia,  whither  he  had  gone 
on  a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  St.  lago.  The  con- 
secrated standard  was  borne  by  his  side  by  one  Ton- 
stain,  "  the  White,"  two  barons  having  declined  tho 
dangerous  honor.  Behind  him  rode  the  pride  of  the 
Norman  nobility. 

On  the  hill-side  before  them  stood  Harold  and  his 
stout  body-guard,  trenches  and  earthworks  in  their 
front,  their  shields  locked  into  a  wall  of  iron.  In 
the  first  line  stood  the  men  of  Kent,  this  being  their 
ancient  privilege.  Behind  them  were  ranged  the 
burgesses  of  London,  the  royal  standard  in  their 
midst.     Beside  the  standard  stood  Harold  himself, 


THE  END  OF  SAXON  ENGLAND.  51 

his  brothers  Gurth  and  Lcofwin  by  his  side,  and 
around  them  a  group  of  England's  noblest  thanes 
and  warriors. 

On  came  the  Norman  column.  Stcadil}'-  awaited 
them  the  English  phalanx.  "Dieu  aide!"  or  "God 
is  our  help  !"  shouted  the  assailing  knights.  "  Christ's 
rood  !  the  holy  rood !"  roared  back  the  English  war- 
riors. Nearer  they  came,  till  they  looked  in  each 
other's  eyes,  and  the  battle  was  ready  to  begin. 

And  now,  from  the  van  of  the  Norman  host,  rode 
a  man  of  renown,  the  minstrel  Taillcfer.  A  gigantic 
man  he  was,  singer,  juggler,  and  champion  combined. 
As  he  rode  fearlessly  forward  he  chanted  in  a  loud 
voice  the  ancient  "Song  of  Eoland,"  flinging  his 
sword  in  the  air  with  one  hand  as  he  sang,  and  catch- 
ing it  as  it  fell  with  the  other.  As  he  sang,  the  Nor- 
mans took  up  the  refrain  of  his  song,  or  shouted 
their  battle  cry  of  "  Dieu  aide." 

Onward  he  rode,  thrusting  his  blade  through  the 
body  of  the  first  Englishman  he  met.  The  second 
he  encountered  was  flung  wounded  to  the  ground. 
With  the  third  the  "Song  of  Eoland"  ended;  the 
giant  minstrel  was  hurled  from  his  horse  pierced  with 
a  mortal  wound.  He  had  sung  his  last  song.  lie 
crossed  himself  and  was  at  rest. 

On  came  the  Normans,  the  band  of  knights  led 
by  William  assailing  Harold's  centre,  the  mercenary 
host  of  French  and  Bretons  attacking  his  flanks. 
The  Norman  foot  led  the  van,  seeking  to  force  a 
passage  across  the  English  stockade.  "  Out,  out !" 
fiercely  shouted  the  men  of  Kent,  as  they  plied  axe 
and  javelin  with  busy   hands.     The    footmen  wero 


52  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

driven  back.  The  ISTorman  horse  in  turn  were  r8« 
pulsed.  Again  and  again  the  duke  rallied  and  let' 
his  knights  to  the  fatal  stockade;  again  and  agaii 
he  and  his  men  were  driven  back.  The  blood  of  tht 
J^orseman  in  his  veins  burned  with  all  the  old  Yikine 
battle-thirst.  The  headlong  valor  which  he  hac 
often  shown  on  ISTorman  plains  now  impelled  him  re 
Icntlessly  forward.  Yet  his  coolness  and  readinesp 
never  forsook  him.  The  course  of  the  battle  evei 
lay  before  his  eyes,  its  reins  in  his  grasp.  At  one 
time  during  the  combat  the  choicest  of  the  Normar 
cavalry  were  driven  upon  a  deep  trench  which  the 
English  had  dug  and  artfully  concealed.  In  thex 
went  in  numbers,  men  and  horses  falling  and  per 
ishing.  Disaster  threatened  Duke  William's  army 
The  Bretons,  checked  by  the  marshes  on  the  right 
broke  in  disorder.  Panic  threatened  to  spreac 
through  the  whole  array,  and  a  wild  cry  arose  that 
the  duke  was  slain.  Men  in  numbers  turned  theij 
backs  upon  the  foe ;  a  headlong  flight  was  begun. 

At  this  almost  fatal  moment  Duke  William's  powei 
as  a  leader  revealed  itself.  His  horse  had  been 
killed,  but  no  harm  had  come  to  him.  Springing  tc 
the  back  of  a  fresh  steed,  he  spurred  before  the 
fugitives,  bade  them  halt,  threatened  them,  struck 
them  with  his  spear.  When  the  cry  was  repeated 
that  the  duke  M'as  dead,  he  tore  off  his  helmet  and 
showed  his  face  to  the  flying  host.  ''  Here  I  am !" 
he  cried,  in  a  stentorian  voice.  "  Look  at  me !  I  live, 
and  by  God's  help  will  conquer  yet !" 

Their  leader's  voice  gave  new  courage  to  the  Her- 
man host ;  the  flight  ceased ;  they  rallied,  and,  fol- 


THE  END  OF  SAXON  ENGLAND.  53 

lowing  tho  headlong  charge  of  the  duke,  attacked 
the  English  with  renewed  fierceness  and  vigor.  Wil- 
liam fought  like  an  aroused  lion.  Horse  after  horso 
was  killed  under  him,  but  ho  still  appeared  at  the 
head  of  his  men,  shouting  his  terrible  war-cry, 
striking  down  a  foeman  with  every  swing  of  his 
mighty  iron  club 

He  broke  through  the  stockade ;  ho  spurred  fu- 
riously on  those  who  guarded  the  king's  standard ; 
down  went  Gyrth,  the  king's  brother,  before  a  blow 
of  that  terrible  mace ;  down  went  Leofwin,  a  second 
brother  of  the  king ;  William's  horse  fell  dead  under 
him,  a  rider  refused  to  lend  him  his  horse,  but  a  blow 
from  that  strong  mailed  hand  emptied  the  saddle, 
and  William  was  again  horsed  and  using  his  mighty 
weapon  with  deadly  effect. 

Yet  despite  all  his  efforts  the  English  line  of  do- 
fence  remained  unbroken.  That  linked  wall  of 
shields  stood  intact.  From  behind  it  tho  terrible 
battle-axes  of  Harold's  men  swung  like  flails,  making 
crimson  gaps  in  the  crowded  ranks  before  them. 
Hours  had  passed  in  this  conflict.  It  began  with 
day-dawn;  the  day  was  waning,  yet  still  the  English 
held  their  own  ;  the  fate  of  England  hung  in  tho 
scale;  it  began  to  look  as  if  Harold  would  wm. 

But  Duke  William  was  a  man  of  resources.  That 
wall  of  shields  must  be  rent  asunder,  or  the  battle 
was  lost.  If  it  could  not  bo  broken  by  assault,  it 
might  by  retreat.  He  bade  the  men  around  him  to 
feign  a  disorderly  flight.  The  trick  succeeded  ;  many 
of  the  English  leaped  the  stockade  and  pursued  their 
flying  foes.  The  craft}-  duke  waited  until  the  eager 
6* 


54  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

pursuers  wero  scattered  confusedly  down  the  hilL 
Then,  heading  a  body  of  horse  which  ho  had  kept 
in  reacrve,  he  rushed  upon  the  disordered  mass,  cut- 
ting them  down  in  multitudes,  strewing  the  hill-sido 
with  English  slain. 

Through  the  abandoned  works  the  duke  led  his 
knights,  and  gained  the  central  plateau.  On  the 
flanks  the  French  and  Bretons  poured  over  the  stock- 
ade and  drove  back  its  poorly-armed  defenders.  It 
was  mid-afternoon,  and  the  field  already  seemed 
won.  Yet  when  the  sunset  hour  came  on  that  red 
October  day  the  battle  still  raged.  Harold  had  lost 
his  works  of  defence,  yet  his  huscarlg  stood  stub- 
bornly around  him,  and  with  unyielding  obstinacy 
fought  for  their  standard  and  their  king.  The  spot 
on  which  they  made  their  last  fight  was  that  marked 
afterwards  by  the  high  altar  of  Battle  Abbey. 

The  sun  was  sinking.  The  battle  was  not  yet  de- 
cided. For  nine  hours  it  had  raged.  Dead  bodies 
by  thousands  clogged  the  field.  The  living  fought 
from  a  platform  of  the  dead.  At  length,  as  the  sun 
was  nearing  the  horizon,  Duke  William  brought  up 
his  archers  and  bade  them  pour  their  arrows  upon 
the  dense  masses  crowded  around  the  standard  of 
the  English  king.  He  ordered  them  to  shoot  into 
the  air,  that  the  descending  shafts  might  fall  upon 
the  faces  of  the  foe. 

Victory  followed  the  flight  of  those  plumed  shafts. 
As  the  sun  went  down  one  of  them  pierced  Harold's 
right  eye.  When  they  saw  him  fall  the  Normans 
rushed  like  a  torrent  forward,  and  a  desperate  con- 
flict ensued  over  the  fallen  king.     The  Saxon  stand- 


THE  END  OF  SAXON  ENGLAND.         55 

ard  Etill  waved  over  the  serried  English  ranks. 
Kobert  Fitz  ErncHt,  a  Norman  knight,  fought  his 
way  to  the  staff.  His  outstretched  hand  had  nearly- 
grasped  it  when  an  English  battle-axe  laid  him  low. 
Twenty  knights,  grouped  in  mass,  followed  him 
through  the  English  phalanx.  Down  they  went 
till  ten  of  them  lay  stretched  in  death.  The  other 
ten  reached  the  spot,  tore  down  the  English  flag, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  more  the  consecrated  banner 
of  Normandy  was  flying  in  its  stead. 

The  conflict  was  at  an  end.  As  darkness  came 
tiie  surviving  English  fled  into  the  woods  in  their 
rear.  The  Normans  remained  masters  of  the  field. 
Harold,  the  king,  was  dead,  and  all  his  brothers  had 
fallen  ;  Duke  William  was  England's  lord.  On  the 
very  spot  where  Harold  had  fallen  the  conqueror 
pitched  his  tent,  and  as  darkness  settled  over  van- 
quished England  he  "sate  down  to  eat  and  drink 
among  the  dead." 

No  braver  fight  had  ever  been  made  than  that 
which  Harold  made  for  England.  The  loss  of  the 
Normans  had  been  enormous.  On  the  day  after  the 
battle  the  survivors  of  William's  army  were  drawn 
up  in  lino,  and  the  muster-roll  called.  To  a  fourth 
of  the  names  no  answer  was  returned.  Among  the 
dead  were  many  of  the  noblest  lords  and  bravest 
knights  of  Normandy.  Yet  there  were  hungry 
nobles  enough  left  to  absorb  all  the  fairest  domains 
of  Saxon  England,  and  they  crowded  eagerly  around 
the  duke,  pressing  on  him  their  claims.  A  new  roll 
was  prepared,  containing  the  names  of  the  noblemen 
and  gentlemen  who  had  survived  the  bloody  fight. 


56  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

This  was  afterwards  deposited  in  Battle  Abbey, 
which  William  had  built  upon  the  hill  where  Harold 
made  his  gallant  stand. 

The  body  of  the  slain  king  was  not  easily  to  be 
found.  Harold's  aged  mother,  who  had  lost  threo 
brave  sons  in  the  battle,  offered  Duke  William  its 
weight  in  gold  for  the  body  of  the  king.  Two 
monks  sought  for  it,  but  in  vain.  The  Norman  sol- 
diers had  despoiled  the  dead,  and  the  body  of  a  king 
could  not  be  told  among  that  heap  of  naked  corpses. 
In  the  end  the  monks  sent  for  Editha,  a  beautiful 
maiden  to  whom  Harold  had  been  warmly  attached, 
and  begged  her  to  search  for  her  slain  lover. 

Editha,  the  *'  swan-necked,"  as  some  chroniclers 
term  her,  groped,  with  eyes  half-blinded  with  tears, 
through  that  heap  of  mutilated  dead,  her  soul  filled 
with  horror,  yet  seeking  on  and  on  until  at  length 
her  love-true  eyes  saw  and  knew  the  face  of  the 
king.  Harold's  body  was  taken  to  Waltham  Abbey, 
on  the  river  Lea,  a  place  he  had  loved  when  alive. 
Here  he  was  interred,  his  tomb  bearing  the  simple 
inscription,  placed  there  by  the  monks  of  Waltham, 
"  Here  lies  the  unfortunate  Harold  I" 


HEREWARD   THE  WAKE. 

Through  the  mist  of  the  far  past  of  English  his- 
tory there  looms  up  before  our  vision  a  notable  figure, 
that  of  Hereward  the  "VYake,  the  "  last  of  the  Saxons," 
as  ho  has  been  appropriately  called,  a  hero  of  romance 
perhaps  more  than  of  history,  but  in  some  respects 
the  noblest  warrior  who  fought  for  Saxon  England 
against  the  Normans.  His  story  is  a  fabric  in  which 
threads  of  fact  and  fancy  seem  equally  interwoven  ; 
of  much  of  his  life,  indeed,  we  are  ignorant,  and  tra- 
dition has  surrounded  this  part  of  his  biography 
with  tales  of  largely  imaginary  deeds ;  but  he  is  a 
character  of  history  as  well  as  of  folk  lore,  and  his 
true  story  is  full  of  the  richest  elements  of  romance. 
It  is  this  noteworthy  hero  of  old  England  with  whom 
wo  have  now  to  deal. 

JSTo  ono  can  be  sure  where  ITereward  was  born, 
though  most  probably  the  county  of  Lincolnshire 
may  claim  the  honor.  We  are  told  that  he  was  heir 
to  the  lordship  of  Eourne,  in  that  county.  Tradition 
— for  we  have  not  yet  reached  the  borders  of  fact — 
Bays  that  he  was  a  wild  and  unruly  youth,  disre- 
spectful to  the  clergy,  disobedient  to  his  parents, 
and  so  generally  unmanageable  that  in  the  end  his 
father  banished  him  from  his  home, — if  it  were  not 

67 


58  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

the  clergy  or  the  king  that  had  to  do  with  his  ban- 
ishment. 

Little  was  the  truculent  lad  troubled  by  this.  Ho 
had  in  him  the  spirit  of  a  wanderer  and  outlaw,  but 
was  one  fitted  to  make  his  mark  wherever  his  feet 
should  fall.  In  Scotland,  while  still  a  boy,  he  killed, 
single-handed,  a  great  bear, — a  feat  highly  consid- 
ered in  those  days  when  all  battles  with  man  and 
beast  were  hand  to  hand.  Next  we  hear  of  him 
in  Cornwall,  one  of  whose  race  of  giants  Hereward 
found  reserved  for  his  prowess.  This  was  a  fellow 
of  mighty  limb  and  boastful  tongue,  vast  in  strength 
and  terrible  in  war,  as  his  own  tale  ran.  Hereward 
fought  him.  and  the  giant  ceased  to  boast.  Corn- 
wall had  a  giant  the  less.  Next  he  sought  Ireland, 
and  did  yeoman  service  in  the  wars  of  that  unquiet 
island.  Taking  ship  thence,  he  made  his  way  to 
Flanders,  where  legend  credits  him  with  wonderful 
deeds.  Battle  and  bread  were  the  nutriment  of  his 
existence,  the  one  as  necessary  to  him  as  the  other, 
and  a  journey  of  a  few  hundreds  of  miles,  with  the 
hope  of  a  hard  fight  at  the  end,  was  to  him  but  & 
holiday. 

Such  is  the  Hereward  to  whom  tradition  introduces 
us,  an  idol  of  popular  song  and  story,  and  doubtless 
a  warrior  of  unwonted  courage  and  skill,  agile  and 
strong,  ready  for  every  toil  and  danger,  and  so  keenly 
alert  and  watchful  that  men  called  him  the  "Wake. 
This  vigorous  and  valiant  man  w^as  born  to  be  the  hero 
and  champion  of  the  English,  in  their  final  struggle" 
for  freedom  against  their  Norman  foes. 
A  new  passion  eut'^red  Here  ward's  soul  in  Flanders, 


HEREWARD  TUE   WAKE.  59 

that  of  love.  He  met  and  wooed  there  a  fair  lady,  Tor- 
frida  by  name,  who  became  his  wife.  A  faithful 
helpmeet  she  proved,  his  good  comrade  in  his  wan- 
derings, his  wise  counsellor  in  warfare,  and  ever 
a  softening  influence  in  the  fierce  warrior's  life. 
llitherlo  the  sword  had  been  his  mistress,  his  temper 
the  turbulent  and  hasty  one  of  the  dweller  in  camp. 
Henceforth  he  owed  a  divided  allegiance  to  love  and 
the  sword,  and  grew  softer  in  mood,  gentler  and 
more  merciful  in  disposition,  as  life  went  on. 

To  this  wandering  Englishman  beyond  the  seas 
came  tidings  of  sad  disasters  in  his  native  land. 
Harold  and  his  army  had  been  overthrown  at  Hast^ 
ings,  and  Norman  William  was  on  the  throne  ;  Nor- 
man earls  had  everywhere  seized  on  English  manors ; 
Norman  churls,  ennobled  on  the  field  of  battle,  were 
robbing  and  enslaving  the  old  owners  of  the  land. 
The  English  had  risen  in  the  north,  and  ^yilliara  had 
harried  whole  counties,  leaving  a  desert  where  he 
had  found  a  fertile  and  flom-ishing  land.  The  suffer- 
ings of  the  English  at  home  touched  the  heart  of 
this  genuine  Englishman  abroad.  Hcreward  the 
Wake  gathered  a  band  of  stout  warriors,  took  ship, 
and  set  sail  for  his  native  land. 

And  now,  to  a  largo  extent,  we  leavo  the  realm  of 
legend,  and  enter  the  domain  of  fact.  Hereward 
henceforth  is  a  historical  character,  but  a  history 
his  with  shreds  of  romance  still  clinging  to  its  skirts. 
Eirst  of  all,  story  credit.s  him  with  descending  on  his 
ancestral  hall  of  Bourne,  then  in  the  possession  of 
Normans,  his  father  driven  from  his  domain,  and 
now  in  his   grave.     Hereward  dealt  with  the  Nor- 


60  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

mans  as  Ulysses  had  done  with  the  suitors,  and  when 
the  hall  was  his  there  were  few  of  them  left  to  tell 
the  tale.  Thence,  not  caring  to  be  cooped  up  by  the 
enemy  within  stone  walls,  he  marched  merrily  away, 
and  sought  a  safer  refuge  elsewhere. 

This  descent  upon  Bourne  we  should  like  to  accept 
as  fact.  It  has  in  it  the  elements  of  risjhtcous  retri- 
bution. But  we  must  admit  that  it  is  one  of  tho 
shreds  of  romance  of  which  we  have  spoken,  one 
of  those  interesting  stories  which  men  behevo  to  be 
true  because  they  would  like  them  to  be  true, — pos- 
sibly with  a  sohd  foundation,  certainly  with  much 
embellishment. 

"Where  we  first  surely  find  Hereward  is  in  the 
heart  of  the  fen  country  of  eastern  England.  Here, 
at  Ely  in  Cambridgeshire,  a  band  of  Englishmen 
had  formed  what  they  called  a  "  Camp  of  Eefiige," 
whence  they  issued  at  intervals  in  excursions  against 
tho  Normans.  England  had  no  safer  haven  of  re- 
treat for  her  patriot  sons.  Ely  was  practically  an 
island,  being  surrounded  by  watery  marshes  on  all 
sides.  Lurking  behind  the  reeds  and  rushes  of  these 
fens,  and  hidden  by  their  misty  exhalations,  that 
faithful  band  had  long  defied  its  foes. 

Hither  came  Hereward  with  his  warlike  followers, 
and  quickly  found  himself  at  the  head  of  the  bard 
of  patriot  refugees.  History  was  repeating  itself. 
Centuries  before  King  Alfred  had  sought  just  such 
a  ehelter  against  the  Danes,  and  had  troubled  his 
enemies  as  Hereward  now  began  to  trouble  his. 

Tho  exiles  of  the  Camp  of  Eefuge  found  new 
blood  in  their  organization  when  Hereward  became 


HERE-WAllD   THE   WAKE.  61 

their  leader.  Their  feeble  forays  •were  quickly  ro 
pbced  by  bold  and  daring  ones.  Issuing  like  hornets 
from  their  nests,  Hcreward  and  his  valiant  followers 
sharply  stung  the  Norman  invadei'S,  hesitating  not 
to  attack  them  wherever  found,  cutting  off  armed 
bands,  wresting  from  them  the  spoil  of  which  they 
had  robbed  the  Saxons,  and  flying  back  to  their  reedy 
shelter  before  their  foes  could  gather  in  force. 

Of  the  exploits  of  this  band  of  active  warriors 
but  one  is  told  in  full,  and  that  one  is  worth  re- 
peating. The  Abbey  of  Peterborough,  not  far  re- 
moved from  El}^,  had  submitted  to  Norman  rule  and 
gained  a  Norman  abbot,  Turold  by  name.  This 
angered  the  English  at  Elv,  and  they  made  a  descent 
upon  the  monkish  settlement.  No  great  harm  was 
intended.  Food  and  some  minor  spoil  would  have 
satisfied  the  raiders.  But  the  frightened  monks, 
instead  of  throwing  themselves  on  the  clemency 
of  their  fellow-countrymen,  sent  word  in  haste  to 
Turold.  This  incensed  the  raiding  band,  composed 
in  part  of  English,  in  part  of  Danes  who  had  little 
regard  for  church  privileges.  Provoked  to  fury, 
they  set  fire  to  the  monks'  house  and  the  town,  and 
only  one  house  escaped  the  flames.  Then  they 
assailed  the  monastery,  the  numks  flying  for  their 
lives.  The  whole  band  of  outlaws  burst  hke  wolves 
into  the  minster,  which  they  rapidly  cleared  of  its 
treasures.  Here  some  climbed  to  the  great  rood, 
and  carried  off  its  golden  ornaments.  There  others 
made  their  way  to  the  steeple,  where  had  been 
hidden  the  gold  and  silver  pastoral  staff.  Shrines, 
roods,  books,  vestments,  money,  treasures  of  all  sorts 

6 


62  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

viinished,  and  when  Abbot  Turold  appeared  with  a 
party  of  armed  Normans,  he  found  but  the  bare 
walls  of  the  church  and  the  ashes  of  the  town,  with 
only  a  sick  monk  to  represent  the  lately  prosperous 
monastery.  Whether  or  not  Hereward  took  part  iu 
this  affair,  history  does  not  say. 

King  William  had  hitherto  disregarded  this  patriot 
refuge,  and  the  bold  deeds  of  the  valiant  Hereward. 

1  England  besides  had  submitted  to  his  authority, 

"S^d  he  was  too  busy  in  the  work  of  making  a  feudal 

''kingdom  of  free  England  to  trouble  himself  about 

one'  small    centre   of  insurrection.      But   an   event 

occurred  that  caused  him  to  look  upon  Hereward 

with  more  hostile  eyes. 

Among  those  who  had  early  sworn  fealty  to  him, 
after  the  defeat  of  Harold  at  Hastings,  were  Edwin 
and  Morcar,  the  earls  of  Mercia  and  Northumber- 
land. They  were  confirmed  in  the  possession  of 
their  estates  and  dignities,  and  remained  faithful  to 
William  during  the  general  insurrection  of  northern 
England.  As  time  went  on,  however,  their  position 
became  unbearable.  The  king  failed  to  give  them 
his  confidence,  the  courtiers  envied  them  their  wealth 
and  titles,  and  maligned  them  to  the  king.  Their 
dignity  of  position  was  lost  at  the  court ;  their  safety 
even  was  endangered ;  they  resolved,  when  too  late,  to 
emulate  their  braver  countryman,  and  strike  a  blow 
for  home  and  liberty.  Edwin  sought  his  domain  in 
the  north,  bent  on  insurrection.  Morcar  made  hia 
way  to  the  Isle  of  Ely,  where  he  took  service  with 
his  followers,  and  with  other  noble  Englishmen, 
under  the  brave  Hereward,  glad  to  find  one  spot  on 


HEREWARD   THE   WAKE.  63 

which  a  man  of  true  English  blood  could  still  set 
foot  in  freedom. 

His  adhesion  brought  ruin  instead  of  strength  to 
Hereward.  If  William  could  aftbrd  to  neglect  a 
band  of  outlaws  in  the  fens,  he  could  not  rest  with 
those  two  great  earls  in  arms  against  him.  There 
were  forces  in  the  north  to  attend  to  Edwin ;  Morcar 
and  Ilereward  must  be  looked  after. 

Gathering  an  army,  William  marched  to  the  fen 
country  and  prepared  to  attack  the  last  of  the  Eng- 
lish in  their  almost  inaccessible  Camp  of  Eefugo.  lie 
had  already  built  himself  a  castle  at  Cambridge,  and 
here  he  dwelt  while  directing  his  attack  against  the 
outlaws  of  the  fens. 

The  task  before  him  was  not  a  light  one,  in  the 
face  of  an  opponent  so  skilful  and  vigilant  as  Here- 
ward the  Wake.  The  Normans  of  that  region  had 
found  him  so  ubiquitous  and  so  constantly  victorious 
that  they  ascribed  his  success  to  enchantment ;  and 
even  William,  who  was  not  free  from  the  supersti- 
tions of  his  day,  seemed  to  imagine  that  he  had  an 
enchanter  for  a  foe.  Enchanter  or  not,  however,  ho 
must  be  dealt  with  as  a  soldier,  and  there  was  but 
one  way  in  which  he  could  be  reached.  The  heavily- 
armed  Norman  soldiers  could  not  cross  the  marsh. 
From  one  side  the  Isle  of  Ely  could  bo  approached 
by  vessels,  but  it  was  here  so  strongly  defended  that 
the  king's  ships  failed  to  make  progress  against 
Hereward's  works.  Finding  his  attaclc  by  water  a 
failure,  William  began  the  building  of  a  causeway, 
two  miles  long,  across  the  morasses  from  the  dry 
land  to  the  island. 


64  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

This  was  no  trifling  labor.  There  was  a  consider- 
able depth  of  mud  and  water  to  fill,  and  stones  and 
trunks  of  trees  were  brought  for  the  purpose  from 
all  the  surrounding  country,  the  trees  being  covered 
with  hides  as  a  protection  against  fire.  The  work 
did  not  proceed  in  peace.  Hereward  and  his  men 
contested  its  progress  at  every  point,  attacked  the 
workmen  with  darts  and  arrows  from  the  light  boats 
in  which  they  navigated  the  waters  of  the  fens,  and, 
despite  the  hides,  succeeded  in  setting  fire  to  the 
wood-vork  of  the  causeway.  More  than  once  it  had 
to  be  rebuilt ;  more  than  once  it  bx'oke  down  under 
the  weight  of  the  Norman  knights  and  men-at-arms, 
who  crowded  upon  it  in  their  efforts  to  reach  the 
island,  and  many  of  these  eager  warriors,  weighed 
down  by  the  burden  of  their  armor,  met  a  dismal 
death  in  the  mud  and  water  of  the  marshes. 

Hereward  fought  with  his  accustomed  courage, 
warlike  skill,  and  incessant  vigilance,  and  gave  King 
"William  no  easy  task,  despite  the  strength  of  his 
army  and  the  abundance  of  his  resources.  But  such 
a  contest,  against  so  skilled  an  enemy  as  William  the 
Conqueror,  and  with  such  disparity  of  numbers, 
could  have  but  one  termination.  Hereward  struck 
BO  valiant  a  last  blow  for  England  that  he  won  the 
admiration  of  his  great  opponent ;  but  William  was 
not  the  man  to  rest  content  with  aught  short  of 
victory,  and  every  successful  act  of  defence  on  the 
part  of  the  English  was  met  by  a  new  movement  of 
assault.  Despite  all  Hereward's  efforts,  the  cause- 
way slowly  but  surely  moved  forward  across  the 
fens. 


ELY  CATHEDRAL. 


HEREWARD   THE  WAKE.  65 

But  Hercward's  chief  danger  lay  behind  rather 
than  before ;  in  the  island  rather  than  on  the  main- 
land. His  accessions  of  nobles  and  commons  had 
placed  a  strong  body  of  men  under  his  command, 
with  whom  he  might  have  been  able  to  meet  "Wil- 
liam's approaches  by  ship  and  causeway,  had  not 
treason  lain  intrenched  in  the  island  itself.  With 
war  in  his  front  and  treachery  in  his  rear  the  gallant 
"Wake  had  a  double  danger  to  contend  with. 

This  brings  us  to  a  picturesque  scene,  deftly  painted 
by  the  old  chroniclers.  Ely  had  its  abbey,  a  counter- 
part  of  that  of  Peterborough.  Thurston,  the  abbot, 
was  English-born,  as  were  the  monks  under  his  pas- 
toral charge ;  and  long  the  cowled  inmates  of  the 
abbey  and  the  armed  patriots  of  the  Camp  of  Eefugo 
dwelt  in  sweet  accord.  In  the  refectory  of  the  abbey 
monks  and  warriors  sat  side  by  side  at  table,  their 
converse  at  meals  being  doubtless  divided  between 
affairs  spiritual  and  affairs  temporal,  while  from  walls 
and  roof  hung  the  arms  of  the  warriors,  harmoniously 
mingled  with  the  emblems  of  the  church.  It  was  a 
picture  of  the  marriage  of  church  and  state  well 
woi'thy  of  reproduction  on  canvas. 

Yet  King  William  knew  how  to  deal  with  monks. 
Ho  had  had  ample  experience  of  their  desire  to  lay 
up  treasures  upon  earth.  Lands  belonging  to  tho 
monastery  lay  beyond  the  fens,  and  on  these  the  king 
laid  the  rough  hand  of  royal  right,  as  an  earnest  of 
what  would  happen  when  tlio  monaster}'  itself  should 
fall  into  his  hands.  A  flutter  of  terror  shook  the 
hearts  of  Abbot  Thurston  and  his  monkish  family. 
To  them  it  seemed  that  tho  skies  were  about  to  fall, 
II.— «  6* 


66  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

and  that  they  would  be  wise  to  stand  from  under, 
i'^rom  that  moment  they  became  traitors  in  soul  to 
the  cause  of  Hereward,  the  danger  to  their  precious 
possessions  outweighing  the  peril  of  their  country 

While  the  monks  of  Ely  were  revolving  this  threat 
of  disaster  in  their  souls,  the  tide  of  assault  and  de- 
fence rolled  on.  "William's  causeway  pushed  its  slow 
length  forward  through  the  fens.  Hereward  assailed 
it  with  fire  and  sword,  and  harried  the  king's  lands 
outside  by  sudden  raids.  It  is  said  that,  like  King 
Alfred  before  him,  he  more  than  once  visited  the 
camp  of  the  Normans  in  disguise,  and  spied  out  their 
ways  and  means  of  warfare. 

There  is  a  story  connected  with  this  warlike  enter- 
prise so  significant  of  the  times  that  it  must  be  told. 
AVhether  or  not  William  believed  Hereward  to  be 
an  enchanter,  he  took  steps  to  defeat  enchantment, 
if  any  existed.  An  old  woman,  who  had  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  a  sorceress,  was  brought  to  the  royal 
camp,  and  her  services  engaged  in  the  king's  cause. 
A  wooden  tower  was  built,  and  pushed  along  the 
causeway  in  front  of  the  troops,  the  old  woman 
within  it  actively  dispensing  her  incantations  and 
calling  down  the  powers  of  witchcraft  upon  Here- 
ward's  head.  Unfortunately  for  her,  Hereward  tried 
against  her  sorcery  of  the  broomstick  the  enchant- 
ment of  the  brand,  setting  fire  to  the  tower  and 
burning  it  and  the  sorceress  within  it.  We  could 
scarcely  go  back  to  a  later  date  than  the  eleventh 
century  to  find  such  an  absurdity  as  this  possible, 
but  in  those  days  of  superstition  even  such  a  man  aa 
William  the  Conqueror  was  capable  of  it. 


HEREWARD   THE   WAKE.  67 

How  tho  contest  would  hare  ended  had  treason 
been  absent  it  is  not  easy  to  say.  As  it  was,  tho  false 
hearts  of  Abbot  Thurston  and  his  monks  broui^ht 
tho  siege  to  a  sudden  and  disastrous  end.  They 
showed  the  king  a  secret  way  of  approach  to  the 
island,  and  William's  warriors  took  the  camp  of  Here- 
ward  by  surprise.  What  followed  scarcely  needs  the 
telling.  A  fierce  and  sharp  struggle,  men  falling  and 
dying  in  scores,  William's  heavy-armed  warriors 
pressing  heavily  upon  the  ranks  of  the  more  lightly 
clad  Englishmen,  and  final  defeat  and  surrender,  com- 
plete the  story  of  the  assault  upon  Ely. 

William  had  won,  but  Hcreward  still  defied  him. 
Striking  his  last  blow  in  defence,  the  gallant  leader, 
with  a  small  band  of  chosen  followers,  cut  a  lane  of 
blood  through  the  Norman  ranks  and  made  his  way 
to  a  small  fleet  of  ships  which  he  had  kept  armed 
and  guarded  for  such  an  emergency.  Sail  was  set, 
and  down  the  stream  they  sped  to  the  open  sea,  still 
setting  at  defiance  the  power  of  Norman  William. 

We  have  two  further  lines  of  story  to  follow,  one 
of  history,  the  other  of  romance ;  one  that  of  the 
reward  of  the  monks  for  their  treachery,  the  other 
that  of  the  later  story  of  Hereward  the  Wake.  Ab- 
bot Thurston  hastened  to  make  his  submission  to  tho 
king.  He  and  his  monkish  companions  sought  tho 
court,  then  at  Warwick,  and  humbly  begged  the  royal 
favor  and  protection.  The  story  goes  that  William 
repaid  their  visit  by  a  journey  to  Ely,  where  he  en- 
tered the  minster  while  the  monks,  all  unconscious 
of  the  royal  visit,  were  at  their  meal  in  the  refectory. 
The  king  stood  humbly  at  a  distance  from  tho  shrine, 


68  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

as  not  worthy  to  approach  it,  but  sent  a  mark  of 
gold  to  be  oflered  as  his  tribute  upon  the  altar. 

Meanwhile,  one  Gilbert  of  Clare  entered  the  refec- 
tory, and  asked  the  feasting  monks  whether  they 
could  not  dine  at  some  other  time,  and  if  it  were  not 
wise  to  repress  their  hunger  while  King  William  was 
in  the  church.  Like  a  flock  of  startled  pigeons  the 
monks  rose,  their  appetites  quite  gone,  and  flocked 
tumultuousl}'-  towards  the  church.  They  were  too 
late.  William  was  gone.  But  in  his  short  visit  he 
had  left  them  a  most  unwelcome  legacy  by  marking 
out  the  site  of  a  castle  within  the  precincts  of  the 
monasteiy,  and  giving  orders  for  its  immediate  build- 
ing by  forced  labor. 

Abbot  Thurston  finally  purchased  peace  from  the 
king  at  a  high  rate,  paying  him  three  hundred  marks 
of  silver  for  his  one  mark  of  gold.  'Nor  was  this  the 
end.  The  silver  marks  proved  to  be  light  in  weight. 
To  appease  the  king's  anger  at  this,  another  three 
hundred  silver  marks  were  offered,  and  King  William 
graciously  suffered  them  to  say  their  prayers  thence- 
forward in  peace.  Their  treachery  to  Hereward  had 
not  proved  profitable  to  the  traitors. 

If  now  we  return  to  the  story  of  Hereward  the 
Wake,  we  must  once  more  leave  the  realm  of  history 
for  that  of  legend,  for  what  fui'ther  is  told  of  him, 
though  doubtless  based  on  fact,  is  strictly  legendary 
in  structure.  Lauding  on  the  coast  of  Lincolnshire, 
the  fugitives  abandoned  their  light  ships  for  the  wide- 
spreading  forests  of  that  region,  and  long  lived  the 
life  of  outlaws  in  the  dense  woodland  adjoining 
Hereward's  ancestral  home  of  Bourne.     Like  an 


HEREWARD   THE   WAKE.  69 

earlier  Eobin  Hood,  the  valiant  "Wake  made  the  green- 
wood his  home  and  the  Normans  his  prey,  covering 
nine  shires  in  his  bold  excursions,  which  extended  as 
far  as  the  distant  town  of  Warwick.  The  Abbey  of 
Peterborough,  with  its  Norman  abbot,  was  an  object 
of  his  special  detestation,  and  more  than  once  Turold 
and  his  monks  were  put  to  flight,  while  the  abbey 
yielded  up  a  share  of  its  treasures  to  the  bold  assail- 
ants. 

How  long  Hcreward  and  his  men  dwelt  in  the 
greenwood  we  are  not  able  to  say.  They  defied  there 
tbe  utmost  efforts  of  their  foes,  and  King  "William, 
whose  admiration  for  his  defiant  enemy  had  not  de- 
creased, despairing  of  reducing  bim  by  force,  made 
him  overtures  of  peace.  Hereward  was  ready  for 
them.  He  saw  clearly  by  this  time  that  the  Norman 
yoke  was  fastened  too  firmly  on  England's  neck  to  be 
thrown  off.  He  had  fought  as  long  as  fighting  was 
of  use.  Surrender  only  remained.  A  day  came  at 
length  in  which  he  rode  from  the  forest  with  forty 
stout  warriors  at  his  back,  made  his  way  to  the  royal 
Beat  of  Winchester,  and  knocked  at  the  city  gates, 
bidding  the  guards  to  carry  the  news  to  the  con- 
queror that  Hcreward  the  "Wake  had  come. 

"William  gladly  received  him.  He  knew  the  value 
of  a  valiant  soul,  and  was  thereafter  a  warm  friend 
of  Hereward,  who,  on  his  part,  remained  as  loyal  and 
true  to  the  king  as  he  had  been  strong  and  earnest 
against  him.  And  so  years  passed  on,  Hereward  in 
favor  at  court,  and  he  and  Torfrida,  his  Flemish  wife, 
living  happily  in  the  castle  which  William's  bounty 
had  provided  them. 


70  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

There  is  more  than  one  story  of  Hereward's  final 
fate.  One  account  says  that  he  ended  his  days  in 
peace.  The  other,  more  in  accordance  with  the  spirit 
of  the  times  and  the  hatred  and  jealousy  felt  by 
many  of  the  Norman  nobles  against  this  English 
protege  of  the  king,  is  so  stirring  in  its  details  that 
it  serves  as  a  fitting  termination  to  the  Hereward 
romance. 

The  story  goes  that  he  kept  close  watch  and  ward 
in  his  house  against  his  many  enemies.  But  on  one 
occasion  his  chaplain,  Ethelward,  then  on  lookout 
duty,  fell  asleep  on  his  post.  A  band  of  Normans 
was  approaching,  who  broke  into  the  house  without 
warning  being  given,  and  attacked  Hereward  alone 
in  his  hall. 

He  had  barely  time  to  throw  on  his  armor  when 
his  enemies  burst  in  upon  him  and  assailed  him  with 
sword  and  spear.  The  fight  that  ensued  was  one 
that  would  have  gladdened  the  soul  of  a  Viking  of 
old.  Hereward  laid  about  him  with  such  savage 
energy  that  the  floor  was  soon  strewn  with  the  dead 
bodies  of  his  foes,  and  crimsoned  with  their  blood. 
Finally  the  spear  broke  in  the  hero's  hand.  Next 
he  grasped  his  sword  and  did  with  it  mighty  deeds 
of  valor.  This,  too,  was  broken  in  the  stress  of  fight. 
His  shield  was  the  only  weapon  left  him,  and  this 
he  used  with  such  vigor  and  skill  that  before  he  had 
done  fifteen  Normans  lay  dead  upon  the  floor. 

Four  of  his  enemies  now  got  behind  him  and  smote 
him  in  the  back.  The  great  warrior  was  brought  to 
his  knees.  A  Breton  knight,  Ealph  of  Dol,  rushed 
upon  him,  but  found  the  wounded  lion  dangerous 


HEREWARD   THE   WAKE.  71 

still  "With  a  last  desperate  effort  Hereward  struck 
him  a  deadly  blow  with  his  buckler,  and  Breton  and 
Saxon  fell  dead  together  to  the  floor.  Another  of  the 
assailants,  Asselin  by  name,  now  cut  off  the  head  of 
this  last  defender  of  Saxon  England,  and  holding  it 
in  the  air,  swore  by  God  and  his  might  that  he  had 
never  before  seen  a  man  of  such  valor  and  strength, 
and  that  if  there  had  been  three  more  like  him  in 
the  land  the  French  would  have  been  driven  out  of 
England,  or  been  slain  on  its  soil. 

And  so  ends  the  stirring  story  of  Hereward  tho 
Wake,  that  mighty  man  of  old. 


THE  DEATH  OF  THE  RED 
KING. 

"William  op  Normandy,  by  the  grace  of  God  and 
his  iron  mace,  had  made  himself  king  of  England. 
An  iron  king  he  proved,  savage,  ruthless,  the  descend- 
ant at  a  few  genei-ations  of  pirate  Norsemen,  and  him- 
self a  pirate  in  blood  and  temper.  England  strained 
uneasily  under  the  harsh  rein  which  he  placed  upon 
it,  and  he  harried  the  country  mercilessly,  turning  a 
great  area  of  fertile  land  into  a  desert.  That  he 
might  have  a  hunting-park  near  the  royal  palace,  he 
laid  waste  all  the  land  that  lay  between  Winchester 
and  the  sea,  planting  there,  in  place  of  the  homes 
destroyed  and  families  driven  out,  what  became 
known  as  the  "  New  Forest."  Nothing  angered  the 
English  more  than  this  ruthless  act.  A  law  had  been 
passed  that  any  one  caught  killing  a  deer  in  William's 
new  hunting-grounds  should  have  his  eyes  put  out. 
Men  prayed  for  retribution.  It  came.  The  New 
Forest  proved  fatal  to  the  race  of  the  conqueror. 
In  1081  his  oldest  son  Eichard  mortally  wounded 
himself  within  its  precincts.  In  May  of  the  year 
1100  his  grandson  Eichard,  son  of  Duke  Eobert,  was 
killed  there  by  a  stray  arrow.  And,  as  if  to  empha- 
size more  strongly  this  work  of  retribution,  two 
months  afterwards  William  Eufus,  the  Eed  King, 
72 


THE  DEATH  OF  THE  RED  KING.         73 

the  son  of  the  Conqueror,  was  slain  in  the  same 
manner  within  its  leafy  shades. 

William  Eufus — William  II.  of  England — was,  like 
all  his  Norman  ancestors,  fond  of  the  chase.  When 
there  were  no  men  to  be  killed,  these  fierce  old  dukes 
and  kings  solaced  themselves  with  the  slaughter  of 
beasts.  In  early  summer  of  the  year  1100  the  Eed 
Iving  was  at  AVinchester  Castle,  on  the  skirts  of  the 
New  Forest.  Thence  he  rode  to  Malwood-Keep,  a 
favorite  hunting-lodge  in  the  forest.  Boon  compan- 
ions wci-e  with  him,  numbers  of  them,  one  of  them  a 
French  knight  named  Sir  Walter  Tyrrell,  the  king's 
favorite.  Here  the  days  were  spent  in  the  delights 
of  the  chase,  the  nights  in  feasting  and  carousing, 
and  all  went  merrily. 

Around  them  spread  far  and  wide  the  umbrageous 
lanes  and  alleys  of  the  New  Forest,  trees  of  every 
variety,  oaks  in  greatest  number,  crowding  the  soil. 
As  yet  there  were  no  trees  of  mighty  gii'th.  The 
forest  was  young.  Few  of  its  trees  had  more  than  a 
quarter-century  of  growth,  except  where  more  an- 
cient woodland  had  been  included.  The  place  was 
solitary,  tenanted  only  by  the  deer  which  had  re- 
placed man  upon  its  soil,  and  by  smaller  creatures  of 
wing  and  fur.  Rarely  a  human  foot  trod  there,  save 
when  the  king's  hunting  retinue  swept  through  its 
verdant  aisles  and  woke  its  solitary  depths  with  the 
cheerful  notes  of  the  hunting-horn.  The  savage  laws 
of  the  Conqueror  kept  all  others  but  the  most  daring 
poachers  from  its  aisles. 

Such  was  the  stage  set  for  the  tragedy  which  we 
have  to  relate,  The  story  goes  that  rough  JQsttt 
D  7 


74  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

passed  at  Malwood-Keep  between  Tyrrell  and  tbe 
king,  ending  in  anger,  as  jests  are  apt  to.  William 
boasted  that  he  would  carry  an  array  through  Franco 
to  the  Alps.  Tyrrell,  heated  with  wine,  answered 
that  he  might  find  France  a  net  easier  to  enter  than 
to  escape  from.  The  hearers  remembered  these  bitter 
words  afterwards. 

On  the  night  before  the  fatal  day  it  is  said  that 
cries  of  terror  came  from  the  king's  bedchamber. 
The  attendants  rushed  thither,  only  to  find  that  the 
monarch  had  been  the  victim  of  nightmare.  When 
morning  came  he  laughed  the  incident  to  scorn,  say- 
ing that  dreams  were  fit  to  scare  only  old  women  and 
children.  SHis  companions  were  not  so  easily  satisfied. 
Those  were  days  when  all  men's  souls  were  open  to 
omens  good  and  bad.  They  earnestly  advised  him 
not  to  hunt  that  day.  William  jested  at  their  fears, 
vowed  that  no  dream  should  scare  him  from  the 
chase,  yet,  uneasy  at  heart,  perhaps,  let  the  hours 
pass  without  calling  for  his  horse.  Midday  came. 
Dinner  was  served.  William  ate  and  drank  with  un- 
usual freedom.  Wine  warmed  his  blood  and  drove 
off  his  clinging  doubts.  He  rose  fiom  the  table  and 
ordered  his  horse  to  be  brought.  The  day  was  young 
enough  still  to  strike  a  deer,  he  said. 

The  king  was  in  high  spirits.  Ho  joked  freely 
with  his  guests  as  he  mounted  his  horse  and  pre- 
pared for  the  chase.  As  he  sat  in  his  saddle  a  wood- 
man presented  him  six  new  arrows.  He  examined 
them,  declared  that  they  were  well  made  and  proper 
Bhafts,  and  put  four  of  them  in  his  quiver,  handing 
the  other  two  to  Walter  Tyrrell. 


THE  DEATH  OP  THE  RED  KINO.         75 

"  Thcso  aro  for  you,"  he  said.  "  Good  marksmen 
should  have  good  arras." 

Tyrrell  took  them,  thanked  William  for  the  gift, 
and  the  hunting-party  was  about  to  start,  when 
there  appeared  a  monk  who  asked  to  speak  with  the 
king. 

"  I  come  from  the  convent  of  St.  Peter,  at  Glouces- 
ter," he  said.  "  The  abbot  bids  me  give  a  message 
to  your  majesty." 

"  Abbot  Serlon  ;  a  good  Norman  he,"  said  the  king. 
"  What  would  he  say  ?" 

"  Your  majesty,"  said  the  monk,  with  great  humil- 
ity, "  he  bids  me  state  that  one  of  his  monks  haa 
dreamed  a  dream  of  evil  omen.  He  deems  the  king 
should  know  it." 

"  A  dream !"  declared  the  king.  "  Has  he  sent  you 
hither  to  carry  shadows  ?  Well,  tell  me  your  dream. 
Time  presses." 

"  The  dream  was  this.  The  monk,  in  his  sleep, 
Baw  Jesus  Christ  sitting  on  a  throne,  and  at  his  feet 
kneeled  a  woman,  who  supplicated  him  in  these 
■words :  '  Saviour  of  the  human  race,  look  down  with 
pity  on  thy  people  groaning  under  the  yoke  of  Wil- 
liam.' " 

The  king  greeted  this  message  with  a  loud  laugh. 

"  Do  they  take  me  for  an  Englishman,  with  their 
dreams  ?"  he  asked.  "  Do  they  fancy  that  I  am  fool 
enough  to  give  up  my  plans  because  a  monk  dreams 
or  an  old  woman  sneezes?  Go,  tell  your  abbot  I 
have  heard  his  story.  Come,  Walter  de  Poix,  to 
horse  I" 

The  train  swept  away,  leaving  the  monkish  men- 


76  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

Benger  alone,  the  king's  disdainful  laugh  still  in  hig 
ears.  With  William  were  his  brother  Henry,  long 
at  odds  with  him,  now  reconciled,  William  de  Bret- 
euil,  and  several  other  nobles.  Quickly  thej'  van- 
ished among  the  thickly  clustering  trees,  and  soon 
broke  up  into  small  groups,  each  of  which  took  its 
own  route  through  the  forest.  Walter  Tyrrell  alone 
remained  with  the  king,  their  dogs  hunting  together. 

That  was  the  last  that  was  seen  of  William,  the 
Eed  King,  alive.  When  the  hunters  returned  he 
was  not  with  them.  Tyrrell,  too,  was  missing. 
What  had  become  of  them  ?  Search  was  made,  but 
neither  could  be  found,  and  doubt  and  trouble  of 
Boul  pervaded  Malwood-Keep. 

The  shades  of  night  were  fast  gathering  when  a 
poor  charcoal-burner,  passing  with  his  cart  through 
the  forest,  came  upon  a  dead  body  stretched  bleed- 
ing upon  the  grass.  An  arrow  had  pierced  its  breast. 
Lifting  it  into  his  cart,  wrapped  in  old  linen,  he 
jogged  slowly  onward,  the  blood  still  dripping  and 
staining  the  ground  as  he  passed.  Not  till  he 
reached  the  hunting-lodge  did  he  discover  that  it 
was  the  corpse  of  a  king  he  had  found  in  the  forest 
depths.  The  dead  body  was  that  of  Wilham  II.  of 
England. 

Tyrrell  had  disappeared.  In  vain  they  sought 
him.  He  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  Suspicion 
rested  on  him.  He  had  murdered  the  king,  men 
said,  and  fled  the  land. 

Mystery  has  ever  since  shrouded  the  death  of  the 
Eed  King.  Tyrrell  lived  to  tell  his  tale.  It  was 
probably  a  true  one,  though  many  doubted  it.     The 


THE  DEATH  OP  THE  RED  KINO.         77 

Frenchman  had  quarrelled  with  the  kin::^,  men  said, 
and  had  murdered  him  from  revenge.  Just  why  ho 
Bhould  have  murdered  so  powerful  a  friend  and 
patron,  for  a  taunt  passed  in  jest,  was  far  from  evi- 
dent. 

Tyrrell's  story  is  as  follows :  He  and  the  king  had 
taken  their  stations,  opposite  one  another,  waiting 
the  work  of  the  woodsmen  who  were  beating  up  the 
game.  Each  had  an  arrow  in  his  cross-bow,  his 
finger  on  the  trigger,  eagerly  listening  for  the  dis- 
tant sounds  which  would  indicate  the  coming  of 
game.  As  they  stood  thus  intent,  a  large  stag  sud- 
denly broke  from  the  bushes  and  sprang  inio  the 
space  between  them. 

William  drew,  but  the  bow-string  broke  in  his 
hand.  The  stag,  startled  at  the  sound,  stood  confused, 
looking  suspiciously  around.  The  king  signed  to  Tyr- 
rell to  shoot,  but  the  latter,  for  some  reason,  did  not 
obey.     William  grew  impatient,  and  called  out, — 

"  Shoot,  Walter,  shoot,  in  the  devil's  name !" 

Shoot  he  did.  An  instant  afterwards  the  king  fell 
without  word  or  moan.  Tyrrell's  arrow  had  struck 
a  tree,  and,  glancing,  pierced  the  king's  breast;  or  it 
may  be  that  an  arrow  from  a  more  distant  bow  had 
struck  him.  When  Tyrrell  reached  his  side  he  was 
dead. 

The  French  knight  knew  what  would  follow  if  he 
fell  into  the  hands  of  the  king's  companions.  Ho 
could  not  hope  to  make  people  credit  his  tale.  Mount- 
ing hh  horse,  ho  rode  with  all  speed  through  the 
forest,  not  drawing  rein  till  tlio  coast  was  reached. 
Ho   had   far   outridden   the   news   of  the   tragedy. 


78  HISTORICAL   TAIiES. 

Taking  ship  here,  he  crossed  over  in  haste  to  Nor. 
mandy,  and  thence  made  his  way  to  France,  not 
drawing  a  breath  free  from  care  till  he  felt  the  soil 
of  his  native  land  beneath  his  feet.  Here  he  lived  to 
a  good  age  and  died  in  peace,  his  life  diversified  by  a 
crusading  visit  to  the  Holy  Land. 

The  end  of  the  Eed  King  resembled  that  of  his 
father.  The  Conqueror  had  been  deserted  before  he 
had  fairly  ceased  breathing,  his  body  left  half  clad 
on  the  bare  boards  of  his  chamber,  while  some  of  his 
attendants  rifled  the  palace,  others  hastened  to  offer 
their  services  to  his  son.  The  same  scenes  followed 
the  Eed  King's  death.  His  body  was  left  in  the 
charcoal-burner's  cart,  clotted  with  blood,  to  be  con- 
veyed to  Winchester,  while  his  brother  Henry  rode 
post-haste  thither  to  seize  the  royal  treasure,  and 
the  train  of  courtiers  rode  as  rapid  a  course,  to  look 
after  their  several  interests. 

Eeaching  the  royal  palace,  Henry  imperiously  de- 
manded the  keys  of  the  kig-g's  treasure-chamber. 
Before  he  received  then^^filffm  de  Breteuil  entered, 
breathless  with  haste^i|iid  bade  the  keepers  not  to 
deliver  them.  <- 

"Thou  and  I,"  he  said  to  Henry,  "  ought  loyally 
to  keep  the  faith  which  we  promised  to  thy  brother, 
Duke  Eobert ;  he  has  received  our  oath  of  homage, 
and,  absent  or  present,  he  has  the  right." 

But  what  was  faith,  what  an  oath,  when  a  crown 
was  the  prize?  A  quarrel  followed;  Henry  drew  his 
sword;  the  people  around  supported  him;  soon  he 
had  thiggtreasure  and  the  royal  regalia ;  Eobert  might 
have  the  right,  he  had  the  kingdom. 


THE  DEATH  OF  THE  RED  KINO.         79 

There  is  tradition  connected  -vvith  the  Red  King's 
death.  A  stirrup  hangs  in  Lyndhurst  llall,  said  to 
be  that  which  he  used  on  that  fatal  day.  The  char- 
coal-burner was  named  Purkess.  There  are  Pur- 
kosses  still  in  the  village  of  Minstead,  near  where 
William  Rufus  died.  And  the  story  runs  that  the 
earthly  possessions  of  the  Purkess  family  have  ever 
since  been  a  single  horse  and  cart.  A  stone  marks 
the  spot  where  the  king  fell,  on  it  the  inscription, — 

"  Here  stood  the  oak-tree  on  which  the  arrow,  shot 
by  "Walter  Tyrrell  at  a  stag,  glanced  and  struck 
King  "William  II.,  surnaraed  Rufus,  on  the  breast; 
of  which  stroke  he  instantly  died  on  the  second  of 
August,  1100. 

"  That  the  spot  where  an  event  so  memorable  had 
happened  might  not  hereafter  be  unknown,  this  stone 
was  set  up  by  John,  Lord  Delaware,  who  had  seen 
the  tree  growing  in  this  place,  anno  1745." 

We  may  end  by  saying  that  England  was  revenged ; 
the  retribution  for  which  her  children  had  prayed 
had  overtaken  the  race  of  the  pirate  king.  That 
broad  domain  of  Saxon  England,  which  William  the 
Conqueror  had  wrested  from  its  owners  to  make 
himself  a  hunting-forest,  was  reddened  with  the 
blood  of  two  of  his  sons  and  a  grandson.  The  hand 
of  Heaven  had  fallen  on  that  cruel  race.  The  New 
Forest  was  consecrated  in  the  blood  of  one  of  the 
Norman  kings. 


HOW  THE  WHITE  SHIP  SAILED, 

Henry  I.,  king  of  England,  had  made  peace  with 
Fi'ance.  Then  to  Normandy  went  the  king  with  a 
great  retinue,  that  he  might  have  Prince  William, 
his  only  and  dearly-loved  eon,  acknowledged  as  his 
BuccesBor  by  the  Norman  nobles  and  married  to  tho 
daughter  of  the  count  of  Anjou.  Both  these  things 
were  done ;  regal  was  the  display,  great  the  rejoicing, 
and  on  the  25th  of  JSTovember,  1120,  the  king  and 
his  followers,  with  the  prince  and  his  fair  young 
bride,  prepared  to  embark  at  Barfleur  on  their  tri- 
umphant journey  home. 

So  far  all  had  gone  well.  Now  disaster  lowered. 
Fate  had  prepared  a  tragedy  that  was  to  load  the 
king's  soul  with  life-long  grief  and  yield  to  English 
history  one  of  its  most  pathetic  tales. 

Of  the  vessels  of  the  fleet,  one  of  the  best  was  a 
fifty-oared  galley  called  *'  The  White  Ship,"  com- 
manded by  a  certain  Thomas  Fitzstephens,  whose 
father  had  sailed  the  ship  on  which  William  the 
Conqueror  first  came  to  England's  shores.  This 
service  Fitzstephens  represented  to  the  king,  and 
begged  that  he  might  be  equally  honored. 

"  My  Hege,"  he  said,  "  my  father  steered  the  ship 
with  the  golden  boy  upon  the  prow  in  which  your 
80 


HOW    TIIE    WHITE    SHIP    SAILED.  81 

father  sailed  to  conquer  England.  I  beseech  you  to 
grant  me  the  same  honor,  that  of  carrying  you  in 
the  White  Ship  to  England." 

"  I  am  sorry,  friend,"  said  the  king,  "  that  my 
vessel  is  already  chosen,  and  that  I  cannot  sail  with 
the  son  of  the  man  who  served  my  father.  But  the 
prince  and  all  his  company  shall  go  along  with  you 
in  the  White  Ship,  which  you  may  esteem  an  honor 
equal  to  that  of  carrying  me." 

By  evening  of  that  day  the  king  with  his  retinue 
had  set  sail,  with  a  fair  wind,  for  England's  shores, 
leaving  the  prince  with  his  attendants  to  follow  in 
Fitzstephcns's  ship.  With  the  prince  were  his  natural 
brother  Eichard,  his  sister  the  countess  of  Perch, 
Richard,  carl  of  Chester,  with  his  wife,  the  king's 
xiiece,  together  with  one  hundred  and  forty  of  the 
flower  of  the  young  nobility  of  England  and  ISIor- 
mandy,  accompanying  whom  were  many  ladies  of 
high  descent.  The  whole  number  of  persons  taking 
passage  on  the  White  Ship,  including  the  crew,  were 
three  hundred. 

Pi-inco  William  was  but  a  boy,  and  one  who  did 
little  honor  to  his  father's  love.  He  was  a  dissolute 
youth  of  eighteen,  who  had  so  little  feeling  for  the 
English  as  to  have  declared  that  when  he  came  to  the 
throne  ho  would  foko  them  to  the  plough  like  oxen. 
Destiny  had  decided  that  the  boastful  boy  should 
not  have  the  opportunity  to  carry  out  this  threat. 

"  Give  three  casks  of  wine,  Filzstcphens,"  he  said, 
"  to  your  crew.      My   father,  the  king,  has  sailed. 
What  time  have  we  to  make  merry  here  and  still 
reach  England  Avith  the  rest?" 
11.-/ 


82  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

"  If  we  sail  at  midnight,"  answered  Fitzstephens, 
•'  my  fifty  rowers  and  the  White  Ship  shall  overtake 
the  swiftest  vessel  in  the  king's  fleet  before  day- 
break." 

"Then  let  us  be  merry,"  said  the  prince;  "tho 
night  is  fine,  the  time  young,  let  us  enjoy  it  while 
wc  may." 

Merry  enough  they  were ;  the  prince  and  his  com 
panioDS  danced  in  the  moonlight  on  the  ship's  deck, 
the  sailors  emptied  their  wiue-casks,  and  when  at 
last  they  left  the  harbor  there  was  not  a  sober  sailor 
on  board,  and  the  captain  himself  was  the  worse  for 
wine. 

As  the  ship  swept  from  the  port,  the  young  nobles, 
heated  with  wine,  hung  over  the  sides  and  drove 
away  with  taunts  the  priests  who  had  come  to  give 
the  usual  benediction.  Wild  youths  were  they,— the 
most  of  them,— gay,  ardent,  in  the  heyday  of  life, 
caring  mainly  for  pleasure,  and  with  little  heed  of 
uught  beyond  the  moment's  whim.  There  seemed 
naught  to  give  them  care,  in  sooth.  The  sea  lay 
smooth  beneath  them,  the  air  was  mild,  the  moon 
poured  its  soft  lustre  upon  the  deck,  and  propitious 
fortune  appeared  to  smile  upon  the  ship  as  it  rushed 
onward,  under  the  impulse  of  its  long  banks  of  oars, 
in  haste  to  overtake  the  distant  fleet  of  the  king. 

All  went  merrily.  Fitzstephens  grasped  the  helm, 
his  soul  proud  with  the  thought  that,  as  his  father 
had  borne  the  Conqueror  to  England's  strand,  he  was 
bearing  the  pride  of  younger  England,  the  heir  to 
the  throne.  On  the  deck  before  him  his  passengers 
were  gathered  in  merry  groups,  singing,  laiighing, 


now   THE    WHITE    SHIP    SAILED,  bJ 

chatting,  tho  ladies  in  their  rich-lined  mantles,  the 
gentlemen  in  their  bravest  attire  ;  while  to  tho  sound 
of  song  and  merry  talk  tho  well  timed  fall  of  tho 
oars  and  swash  of  driven  waters  made  refrain. 

They  had  reached  the  harbor's  mouth.  The  open 
ocean  lay  before  them.  In  a  few  minutes  more  they 
770uld  be  sweeping  over  the  Atlantic's  broad  expanse. 
Suddenly  there  came  a  fi  ightful  crash ;  a  shock  ihat 
threw  numbers  of  the  passengers  headlong  to  the 
deck,  and  tore  tho  oars  from  the  rowers'  hands ;  a 
cry  of  terror  that  went  up  from  three  hundred 
throats.  It  is  said  that  some  of  the  people  in  tho 
far-of  ships  heard  that  cry,  faint,  far,  despairing, 
borne  to  them  over  miles  of  sea,  and  asked  them- 
selves in  wonder  what  it  could  portend. 

It  portended  too  much  wine  and  too  little  heed. 
The  vessel,  carelessly  steered,  had  struck  upon  a 
rock,  the  Catee-raze,  at  tho  harbor's  mouth,  with  such 
violence  that  a  gaping  wound  was  torn  in  her  prow, 
and  tho  waters  instantly  began  to  rush  in. 

Tho  White  Ship  was  injured,  was  filling,  would 
quickly  sink.  Wild  consternation  prevailed.  There 
was  but  one  boat,  and  that  small.  Fitzstcphens, 
sobered  by  the  concussion,  hastily  lowered  it,  crowded 
into  it  tho  prince  and  a  few  nobles,  and  bade  them 
hastily  to  i:»ush  off  and  row  to  the  land. 

"  It  is  not  far,"  ho  said,  "  and  the  sea  is  smooth. 
Tho  rest  of  us  must  die." 

They  obeyed.  The  boat  was  pushed  off,  the  oars 
dropped  into  the  w\ater,  it  began  to  move  from  the 
ship.  At  that  moment,  amid  th'^  cries  of  horror  and 
despair  on  tho  sinking  vessel,  came  one  that  met  the 


84  HISTOllICAL   TALES 

prince's  ear  in  piteous  appeal.  It  was  the  voice  of 
bis  sister,  Marie,  the  countess  of  Perch,  crying  to 
him  for  help. 

In  that  moment  of  frightful  peril  Prince  William's 
heart  beat  true. 

*'  Eow  back  at  any  risk !"  he  cried.  "  My  sister 
must  be  saved.     I  cannot  bear  to  leave  her." 

They  rowed  back.  But  the  hope  that  from  that 
panic-stricken  multitude  one  woman  could  be  selected 
was  wild.  No  sooner  had  the  boat  reached  the  ship's 
side  than  dozens  madly  sprung  into  it,  in  such  num- 
bers that  it  was  overturned.  At  almost  the  same 
moment  the  White  Ship  went  down,  dragging  all 
within  reach  into  her  eddj^ing  vortex.  Death  spread 
its  sombre  wings  over  the  spot  where,  a  few  brief 
minutes  before,  life  and  joy  had  ruled. 

When  the  tossing  eddies  subsided,  the  pale  moon- 
light looked  down  on  but  two  souls  of  all  that  gay 
and  youthful  company.  These  clung  to  a  spar  which 
had  broken  loose  from  the  mast  and  floated  on  the 
waves,  or  to  the  top  of  the  mast  itself,  which  stood 
above  the  surface. 

"Only  two  of  us,  out  of  all  that  gallant  com- 
pany I"  said  one  of  these  in  despairing  tones.  "  Who 
are  you,  friend  and  comrade?" 

"  I  am  a  nobleman,  Godfrey,  the  s  m  of  Gilbert  de 
L'Aigle.     And  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  am  Berold,  a  poor  butcher  of  Eouen,"  was  the 
answer. 

"God  be  merciful  to  us  both  I"  they  then  cried 
together. 

Immediately  afterwards  they  saw  a  third,  who  had 


HOW   THE   WHITE    SHIP    SAILED.  85 

risen  and  was  swimming  towards  thcra.  As  lio  drew 
near  he  pushed  the  wet,  clinging  hair  from  his  face, 
and  they  saw  the  white,  agonized  countenance  of 
Fitzstephens.  He  gazed  at  them  with  eager  eyes; 
then  cast  a  long,  despairing  look  on  the  waters 
around  him. 

"Where  is  the  prince?"  he  asiced,  in  tones  that 
seemed  lo  shudder  with  terror. 

"Gone!  gone!"  they  cried.  "Not  one  of  all  on 
board,  except  we  three,  has  risen  above  the  water." 

"Woe!  woe,  to  me!"  moaned  Fitzstephens.  lie 
ceased  swimming,  turned  to  them  a  face  ghastlj''  with 
horror,  and  then  sank  beneath  the  waves,  to  join  tho 
goodly  company  whom  his  negligence  had  sent  to  a 
watery  death.  He  dared  not  live  to  meet  the  father 
of  his  charge. 

The  two  continued  to  cling  to  their  support.  But 
tiie  water  had  in  it  the  November  chill,  the  night 
was  long,  tho  tenderlj- -reared  nobleman  lacked  tho 
endurance  of  his  humbler  companion.  Before  day 
dawn  he  said,  in  faint  accents, — 

"  I  am  exhausted  and  chilled  with  the  cold.  I  can 
hold  on  no  longer.  Farewell,  good  friend!  God 
preserve  you !" 

He  loosed  his  hold  and  sank.  The  butch ei  of  Eouen 
remained  alone. 

When  day  came  some  fisherman  saw  this  clinging 
form  from  the  shore,  rowed  out,  and  brought  him  in, 
the  sole  one  living  of  all  that  goodly  company.  A 
few  hours  before  the  pride  and  hope  of  Normandy 
and  England  had  crowded  that  noble  ship.  Now 
only  a  base-born  butcher  survived  to  tell  the  story 

8 


86  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

of  disaster,  and  the  stately  White  Ship,  with  her 
noble  freightage,  lay  buried  beneath  the  "waves. 

For  three  days  no  one  dared  tell  King  Henry  the 
dreadful  story.  Such  was  his  love  for  his  son  that 
they  feared  his  grief  might  turn  to  madness,  and 
their  lives  pay  the  forfeit  of  their  venture.  At  length 
a  little  lad  was  sent  in  to  him  with  the  tale.  Weep- 
ing bitterly,  and  kneeling  at  the  king's  feet,  the  child 
told  in  broken  accents  the  story  which  had  been 
taught  him,  how  the  White  Ship  had  gone  to  the 
bottom  at  the  mouth  of  Barfleur  harbor,  and  all  on 
board  been  lost  save  one  poor  commoner.  Prince 
William,  his  son,  was  dead. 

The  king  heard  him  to  the  end,  with  slowly 
whitening  face  and  horror-stricken  eyes.  At  the  con- 
clusion of  the  child's  narrative  the  monarch  fell  pros- 
trate to  the  floor,  and  lay  there  long  like  one  stricken 
with  death.  The  chronicle  of  this  sad  tragedy  ends 
in  one  short  phrase,  which  is  weighty  with  its  burden 
of  grief, — From  that  day  on  King  Henry  never 
smiled  again  1 


THE   CAPTIVITY  OF  RICHARD 
CCEUR  DE  LION. 

In  the  month  of  October,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord 
1192,  a  pirate  vessel  touched  land  on  the  coast  of 
Sclavonia,  at  the  port  of  Yara,  Those  were  daj's  in 
which  it  was  not  easy  to  distinguish  between  pirates 
and  true  mariners,  either  in  aspect  or  avocation, 
neither  being  afflicted  with  much  inconvenient  hon- 
esty, both  being  hungry  for  spoil.  From  this  vessel 
were  landed  a  number  of  passengers, — knights,  chap- 
lains, and  servants, — Crusaders  on  their  way  home 
ft-om  the  Holy  Land,  and  in  need,  for  their  overland 
journey,  of  a  safe-conduct  from  the  lord  of  the 
province. 

He  who  seemed  chief  among  the  travellers  sent  a 
messenger  to  the  ruler  of  Yara,  to  ask  for  this  safe- 
conduct,  and  bearing  a  valuable  ruby  ring  which  he 
was  commissioned  to  offer  him  as  a  present.  The 
lord  of  Yara  received  this  ring,  which  he  gazed  upon 
with  eyes  of  doubt  and  curiosity.  It  was  too  valu- 
able an  offer  for  a  small  service,  and  he  had  surely 
heard  of  this  particular  ruby  before. 

"Who  are  they  that  have  sent  thee  to  ask  a  free 
passage  of  me  ?"  he  asked  the  messenger. 

"Some  pilgrims  returning  from  Jerusalem,"  was 

the  answer. 

87 


88  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

"  And  by  what  names  call  you  these  pilgrims  ?" 

"One  is  called  Baldwin  do  Bethune,"'  rejoined  the 
messenger.  "  The  other,  he  who  sends  you  this  ring, 
is  named  Hugh  the  merchant." 

Tho  ruler  fixed  his  eyes  again  upon  the  ring, 
which  he  examined  with  close  attention.  He  at 
length  replied, — 

"  You  had  better  have  told  me  the  truth,  for  youi 
ring  reveals  it.  This  man's  name  is  not  Hugh,  but 
Eichard,  king  of  England.  His  gift  is  a  royal  one, 
and,  since  he  wished  to  honor  me  with  it  without 
knowing  me,  I  return  it  to  him,  and  leave  him  free  to 
depart.  Should  I  do  as  duty  bids,  I  would  hold  him 
prisoner." 

It  was  indeed  Eichard  Coeur  de  Lion,  on  his  way 
home  from  the  Crusade  which  he  had  headed,  and  in 
which  his  arbitrary  and  imperious  temper  had  made 
enemies  of  the  rulers  of  France  and  Austria,  who 
accompanied  him.  He  had  concluded  with  Saladin  a 
truce  of  three  years,  three  months,  three  days,  and 
three  hours,  and  then,  disregarding  his  oath  that  ho 
would  not  leave  the  Holy  Land  while  he  had  a  horse 
left  to  feed  on,  he  set  sail  in  haste  for  home.  Ho 
had  need  to,  for  his  brother  John  was  intriguing  to 
seize  the  throne. 

On  his  way  home,  finding  that  he  must  land  and 
proceed  part  of  the  way  overland,  he  dismissed  all 
his  suite  but  a  few  attendants,  fearing  to  be  recog- 
nized and  detained.  The  single  vessel  which  he  now 
possessed  was  attacked  by  pirates,  but  the  fight,  sin- 
gularly enough,  ended  in  a  truce,  and  was  followed 
by  so  close  a  friendship  between  Eichard  and  the 


THE   CAPTIYITY   OP   RICHARD   C(EUR   DE   LION.       89 

pirate  captain  that  ho  left  his  vossol  for  theirs,  and 
was  borne  by  them  to  Yara. 

The  ruler  of  Yara  was  a  relative  of  the  marquia 
of  Montforrat,  whose  death  in  Palestine  was  irapuied 
to  Eichard's  influence.  The  king  had,  therefore,  un- 
wittingly revealed  himself  to  an  enemy  and  was  in 
imminent  danger  of  arrest.  On  receiving  the  mes- 
Bage  sent  him  ho  set  out  at  once,  not  caring  to  linger 
in  80  doubtful  a  neighborhood.  No  attempt  was  made 
to  stop  him.  The  lord  of  Yara  was  in  so  far  faith- 
ful to  his  word.  But  he  had  not  promised  to  keep 
the  king's  secret,  and  at  once  sent  a  message  to  his 
brother,  lord  of  a  neighboring  town,  that  King  Rich- 
ard of  England  was  in  the  country,  and  would  prob- 
ably pass  through  his  town. 

There  was  a  chance  that  he  might  pass  undiscov- 
ered ;  pilgrims  from  Palestine  were  numerous ;  Rich- 
ard reached  the  town,  where  no  one  knew  him,  and 
obtained  lodging  with  one  of  its  householders  as 
Hugh,  a  merchant  from  the  East. 

As  it  happened,  the  lord  of  the  town  had  in  his 
service  a  Norman  named  Roger,  formerly  from  Ar- 
genton.  To  him  he  sent,  and  asked  him  if  he  knew 
the  king  of  England. 

"  No ;  I  never  saw  him,"  said  Roger. 

"But  you  know  his  language — the  Norman  French ; 
there  may  bo  some  token  by  which  you  can  recog- 
nize him;  go  seek  him  in  the  inns  where  pilgrims 
lodge,  or  elsewhere.  He  is  a  prize  well  worth  taking. 
If  you  put  him  in  my  hands  I  will  give  you  the  gov- 
ernment of  half  my  domain." 

Roger  set  out  upon  his  quest,  and  conimued  it  ftir 
8* 


90  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Boveral  days,  first  visiting  the  inns,  and  then  going 
from  house  to  house  of  the  town,  keenly  in8j)ecting 
every  stranger.  The  king  was  really  there,  and  at 
last  was  discovered  by  the  eager  searcher.  Though 
in  disguise,  Eoger  suspected  bim.  That  mighty  bulk, 
those  muscular  Umbs,  that  imperious  face,  could  be- 
long to  none  but  him  who  had  swept  through  the 
Saracen  hosts  with  a  battle-axe  which  no  other  of 
the  Crusaders  could  wield.  Eoger  questioned  him  so 
closely  that  the  king,  after  seeking  to  conceal  his  iden- 
tity, was  at  length  forced  to  reveal  who  he  really  was. 

"  I  am  not  your  foe,  but  your  friend,"  cried  Eoger, 
bursting  into  tears.  "  You  are  in  imminent  danger 
here,  my  liege,  and  must  fly  at  once.  My  best  horse 
is  at  your  service.  Make  your  escape,  without  delay, 
out  of  German  territory." 

Waiting  until  he  saw  the  king  safely  horsed,  Eoger 
returned  to  his  master,  and  told  him  that  the  report 
was  a  false  one.  The  only  Crusader  he  had  found  in 
the  town  was  Baldwin  de  Bethune,  a  Norman  knight, 
on  his  way  home  from  Palestine.  The  lord,  furious 
at  his  disappointment,  at  once  bad  Baldwin  arrested 
and  imprisoned.     But  Eichard  had  escaped. 

The  flying  king  hurried  onward  through  the  Ger- 
man lands,  his  only  companions  now  being  William 
de  I'Etang,  his  intimate  friend,  and  a  valet  who  could 
Bpcak  the  language  of  the  country,  and  wh3  served 
as  their  interpreter.  For  three  days  and  three  nights 
the  travellers  pursued  their  course,  without  food  or 
shelter,  not  daring  to  stop  or  accost  any  of  the  in- 
habitants. At  length  they  arrived  at  Vienna,  com- 
pletely worn  out  with  hunger  and  fatigue. 


THE   CAPTIVITY   OF   RICHARD   C(EUR   DE   LION,        91 

The  fugitive  king  could  have  sought  no  more  dan- 
gcrouH  place  of  shelter.  Vienna  was  the  capital  of 
Duke  Leopold  of  Austria,  whom  Eichard  had  mortally 
oftendcd  in  Palestine,  b}'  tearing  down  his  banner 
and  planting  the  standard  of  England  in  its  place. 
Yet  all  might  have  gone  well  but  for  the  servant, 
who,  while  not  a  traitor,  was  as  dangerous  a  thing,  a 
fool.  He  was  sept  out  from  the  inn  to  exchange  the 
gold  byzantines  of  the  travellers  for  Austrian  coin, 
and  took  occasion  to  make  such  a  display  of  his 
money,  and  assume  so  dignified  and  courticr-like  an 
air,  that  the  citizens  grew  suspicious  of  him  and  took 
him  before  a  magistrate  to  learn  who  he  was.  He 
declared  that  he  was  the  servant  of  a  rich  merchant 
who  was  on  his  way  to  Vienna,  and  would  be  there 
in  three  days.  This  reply  quieted  the  suspicions  of 
the  people,  and  the  foolish  fellow  was  released. 

In  great  affright  he  hastened  to  the  king,  told  him 
what  had  happened,  and  begged  him  to  leave  the 
town  at  once.  The  advice  was  good,  but  a  three- 
days'  journey  without  food  or  shelter  called  for  some 
repose,  and  Eichard  decided  to  remain  some  days 
longer  in  the  town,  confident  that,  if  they  kept  quiet, 
no  further  suspicion  would  arise. 

Meanwhile,  the  news  of  the  incident  at  Yara  had 
spread  through  the  country  and  reached  Vienna. 
Duke  Leopold  heard  it  with  a  double  sentiment  of 
enmity  and  avarice.  Eichard  had  insulted  him ;  here 
was  a  chance  for  revenge  ;  and  the  ransom  of  such  a 
prisoner  would  enrich  his  treasury,  then,  presumably, 
none  too  full.  Spies  and  men-at-arms  were  sent  out 
in   search  of  travellers  who  might  answer  to  the 


92  HISTORICAL   TALES 

description  of  the  burly  English  monarch.  For  days 
they  traversed  the  country,  but  no  trace  of  him 
could  be  found.  Leopold  did  not  dream  that  his 
mortal  foe  was  in  his  own  city,  comfortably  lodged 
within  a  mile  of  his  palace. 

Eichard's  servant,  who  had  imperilled  him  before, 
now  succeeded  in  finishing  his  work  of  folly.  One 
day  he  appeared  in  the  market  to  purchase  provisions, 
foolishly  bearing  in  his  girdle  a  pair  of  richly  em- 
broidered gloves,  such  as  only  great  lords  wore  when 
in  court  attire.  The  fellow  was  arrested  again,  and 
this  time,  suspicion  being  increased,  was  put  to  the 
torture.  Very  little  of  this  sharp  discipline  sufficed 
him.  He  confessed  whom  he  served,  and  told  the 
magistrate  at  what  inn  King  Eichard  might  be 
found. 

Within  an  hour  afterwards  the  inn  was  surrounded 
by  soldiers  of  the  duke,  and  Eichard,  taken  by  sur- 
prise, was  forced  to  surrender.  He  was  brought  be- 
fore the  duke,  who  recognized  him  at  a  glance, 
accosted  him  with  great  show  of  courtesy,  and  with 
every  display  of  respect  ordered  him  to  be  taken  to 
prison,  where  picked  soldiers  with  drawn  swords 
guarded  him  day  and  night. 

The  news  that  King  Eichard  was  a  prisoner  in  an 
Austrian  fortress  spread  through  Europe,  and  every- 
where gave  joy  to  the  rulers  of  the  various  realms. 
Brave  soldier  as  he  was,  he  of  the  lion  heart  had  suc- 
ceeded in  offending  all  his  kingly  comrades  in  the 
Crusade,  and  they  rejoiced  over  his  captivity  as  one 
might  over  the  caging  of  a  captured  lion.  The 
emperor  of  Austria   called  upon  his  vassal,  Buke 


THE   CAPTIVITY   OF   RICHARD   CffiUR   DE   LION         93 

Leopold,  to  deliver  the  prisoner  to  him,  saying  that 
none  but  an  emperor  had  the  rif^ht  to  imprison  a 
king.  The  duke  assented,  and  the  emperor,  filled 
with  glee,  sent  word  of  his  good  fortune  to  the  king 
of  France,  who  returned  answer  that  the  news  was 
more  agreeable  to  him  than  a  present  of  gold  or  topaz. 
As  for  John,  the  brother  of  the  imprisoned  king,  he 
made  overtures  for  an  alliance  with  Philip  of  France, 
redoubled  his  intrigues  in  England  and  Normandy, 
and  secretly  instigated  the  emperor  to  hold  on  firmly 
to  his  roj'al  prize.  All  Europe  seemed  to  he  leagued 
against  the  unlucky  king,  who  lay  in  bondage  within 
the  stern  walls  of  a  German  prison. 

And  now  we  feel  tempted  to  leave  awhile  the  do- 
main of  sober  histor}-,  and  enter  that  of  romance, 
which  tells  one  of  its  prettiest  stories  about  King 
Eichard's  captivity.  The  story  goes  that  the  people 
of  England  knew  not  what  had  become  of  their  king. 
That  he  was  held  in  durance  vile  somewhere  in  Ger- 
many they  had  been  told,  but  Germany  was  a  broad 
land  and  bad  many  prisons,  and  none  knew  which 
held  the  lion-hearted  king.  Before  he  could  be  res- 
cued he  must  be  found,  and  how  should  this  be  done  ? 

Those  were  the  daj-s  of  the  troubadours,  who 
sang  their  lively  lays  not  only  in  Provence  but  in 
other  lands.  Ilichurd  himself  composed  la3's  and 
sang  them  to  the  harp,  and  Blondel,  a  troubadour 
of  renown,  was  his  favorite  minstrel,  accompanying 
him  wherever  he  went.  This  faithful  singer  mourned 
bitterly  the  captivity  of  his  king,  and  at  length,  bent 
on  finding  him,  went  wandering  through  foreign 
lands,  singing  under  the  walls  of  fortresses  and  pris- 


y4  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

ons  a  lay  which  Eichard  well  knew.  Many  weary 
days  he  wandered  without  response,  almost  without 
hope;  yet  still  faithful  Blondel  roamed  on,  heedless 
of  the  palaces  of  the  land,  seeking  only  its  prisons 
and  strongholds. 

At  length  arrived  a  day  in  which,  from  a  fortress 
window  above  his  head,  came  an  echo  of  the  strain 
he  had  just  sung.  He  listened  in  ecstasy.  Those 
were  Norman  words ;  that  was  a  well-known  voice  ; 
it  could  be  but  the  captive  king. 

"  O  Eichard !  O  my  king  I  "  sang  the  minstrel  again, 
in  a  song  of  his  own  devising. 

From  above  came  again  the  sound  of  familiar  song. 
Filled  with  joy,  the  faithful  minstrel  sought  Eng- 
land's shores,  told  the  nobles  where  the  king  could  bo 
found,  and  made  strenuous  exertions  to  obtain  his 
ransom,  efiorts  which  were  at  length  crowned  with 
success. 

Through  the  alluring  avenues  of  romance  the  voice 
of  Blondel  still  comes  to  us,  singing  his  signal  lay  of 
"  O  Eichard !  O  my  king !  "  but  history  has  made  no 
record  of  the  pretty  tale,  and  back  to  history  we 
must  turn. 

The  imprisoned  king  was  placed  on  trial  before  the 
German  Diet  at  Worms,  charged  with — no  one  knows 
what.  Whatever  the  charge,  the  sentence  was  that 
he  fhould  pay  a  ransom  of  one  hundred  thousand 
pounds  of  silver,  and  acknowledge  himself  a  vassal 
of  the  emperor.  The  latter,  a  mere  formality,  was 
gone  through  with  as  much  pomp  and  ceremony  as 
though  it  was  likely  to  have  any  binding  forcie  upon 
English  kir^s.     The  former,  the  raising  of  the  monej> 


THE   CAPTIVITY  OP   RICHARD   CCEUR   DE   LION.       99 

was  move  difficult.  T\yo  years  passed,  and  still  it  was 
not  all  paid.  The  royal  prisoner,  weary  of  his  long 
captivitj',  complained  bitterly  of  the  neglect  of  his 
people  and  friends,  singing  his  woes  in  a  song  com- 
posed in  tbe  polished  dialect  of  Provence,  the  land 
of  the  troubadours. 

"  There  is  no  man,  however  base,  whom  for  want 
of  money  I  would  let  Lie  in  £  prison  cell,"  he  sang. 
"  1  do  not  say  it  as  a  reproach,  but  I  am  still  a  pris- 
oner." 

A  part  of  the  ransom  at  length  reached  Germany, 
whose  emperor  sent  a  third  of  it  to  the  duke  of 
Austria  as  his  share  of  the  prize,  and  consented  to 
the  liberation  of  his  captive  in  the  third  week  after 
Christmas  if  he  would  leave  hostages  to  guarantee 
the  remaining  payment. 

Richard  agreed  to  everything,  glad  to  escape  from 
prison  on  any  terms.  But  the  news  of  this  agree- 
ment spread  until  it  reached  the  ears  of  Philip  of 
France  and  his  ally,  John.  Dread  filled  their  hearts 
at  the  tidings.  Their  plans  for  seizing  on  England 
and  Normandy  were  not  yet  complete.  In  great 
haste  Philip  sent  messengers  to  the  emperor,  offering 
him  seventy  thousand  marks  of  silver  if  he  would 
hold  his  prisoner  for  one  year  longer,  or,  if  he  pre- 
ferred, a  thousand  pounds  of  silver  for  each  month 
of  captivity.  If  he  would  givo  the  prisoner  into  the 
custody  of  Philip  and  bis  ally,  they  would  pay  a 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  marks  for  the  prize. 

The  offer  was  a  tempting  one.  It  dazzled  the  mind 
of  the  emperor,  whose  ideas  of  honor  were  not  very 
deeply  planted.     But  the  members  of  the  Diet  would 


96  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

not  suffer  him  to  break  his  faith.  Their  power  was 
great,  even  over  the  emperor's  will,  and  the  royal 
prisoner,  after  his  many  weary  months  of  captivity, 
was  set  free. 

Word  of  the  failure  of  his  plans  came  quickly  to 
Philip's  knavish  cars,  and  he  wrote  in  haste  to  his 
confederate,  "  The  devil  is  loose ;  take  care  of  your- 
self," an  admonition  which  John  was  quite  likely  to 
obey.  His  hope  of  seizing  the  crown  vanished. 
There  remained  to  meet  his  placable  brother  with  a 
show  of  fraternal  loyalty. 

But  Eicbard  was  delayed  in  his  purpose  of  reach- 
ing England,  and  danger  again  threatened  him.  He 
had  been  set  free  near  the  end  of  January,  1194. 
He  dared  not  enter  France,  and  Normandy,  then 
invaded  by  the  French,  was  not  safe  for  him.  His 
best  course  was  to  take  ship  at  a  German  port  and 
sail  for  England.  B-ut  it  was  the  season  of  storms ; 
he  lay  a  month  at  Anvers  imprecating  the  weather; 
meanwhile,  avarice  overcame  both  fear  and  honor  in 
the  emperor's  heart,  the  large  sum  oflFered  him  out- 
weighed the  opposition  of  the  lords  of  the  Diet,  and 
he  resolved  to  seize  the  prisoner  again  and  profit  by 
the  French  king's  golden  bribe. 

Fortunately  for  Eichard,  the  perfidious  emperor 
allowed  the  secret  of  his  design  to  get  adrift;  one 
of  the  hostages  left  in  his  hands  heard  of  it  and 
found  means  to  warn  the  king.  Eichard,  at  this 
tidings,  stayed  not  for  storm,  but  at  once  took  pass- 
age in  the  galliot  of  a  Norman  trader  named  Alain 
Franchemer,  narrowly  escaping  the  men-at-arms  sent 
to  take  him  prisoner.    Not  many  days  afterwards  he 


STATUE  OF   RICHARD  CCEUR    D£   LION. 


THE    CArTIVITY   OF   RICHARD   C(EUR   PE    LION         97 

landed  at  the  Entclish  port  of  Sandwich,  once  more 
a  free  man  and  a  king. 

"What  followed  in  Richard's  life  we  design  not  to 
tell,  other  than  the  story  of  his  life's  ending  with  its 
romantic  incidents.  The  liberated  king  had  not  been 
long  on  his  native  soil  before  he  succeeded  in  securing 
I^ormandy  against  the  invading  French,  building  on 
its  borders  a  powerful  fortress,  which  he  called  his 
*' Saucy  Castle,"  and  the  ruins  of  whose  sturdy  walls 
still  remain.  Philip  was  wrathful  when  he  saw  its 
ramparts  growing. 

"  I  will  take  it  were  its  walls  of  iron,"  he  declared. 

"  I  would  hold  it  were  the  walls  of  butter,"  Eichard 
defiantly  replied. 

It  was  church  land,  and  the  archbishop  placed 
Normandy  under  an  interdict.  Richard  laughed  at 
his  wrath,  and  persuaded  the  pope  to  withdraw  the 
curse.  A  "rain  of  blood"  fell,  which  scared  his 
courtiers,  but  Richard  laughed  at  it  as  he  had  at  the 
bishop's  wrath. 

"  Had  an  angel  from  heaven  bid  him  abandon  his 
work,  he  would  have  answered  with  a  curse,"  says 
one  writer. 

"How  prettj'  a  child  is  mine,  this  child  of  but  a 
year  old  1"  said  Eichard,  gladly,  as  he  saw  the  walls 
proudly  rise. 

He  needed  money  to  finish  it.  His  kingdom  had 
been  drained  to  pay  his  ransom.  But  a  rumor 
reached  him  that  a  treasure  had  been  found  at  Li- 
mousin,— twelve  knights  of  gold  seated  round  a 
golden  table,  said  the  story.  Richard  claimed  it. 
The  lord  of  Limoges  refused  to  surrender  it.  Rich- 
II. — E        g  9 


98  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

ard  assailed  his  castle.  It  was  stubbornly  defended. 
In  savage  wrath  he  swore  he  would  hang  every  soul 
within  its  walls. 

There  was  an  old  song  which  said  that  an  arrow 
would  be  made  in  Limoges  by  which  King  Kichard 
would  die.  The  song  proved  a  true  prediction.  One 
night,  as  the  king  surveyed  the  walls,  a  young  sol- 
dier, Bertrand  do  Gourdon  by  name,  drew  an  arrow 
to  its  head,  and  saying,  "  Now  I  pray  God  speed 
thee  well !"  let  fly. 

The  shaft  struck  the  king  in  the  left  shoulder. 
The  wound  might  have  been  healed,  but  unskilful 
treatment  made  it  mortal.  The  castle  was  taken 
while  Richard  lay  dying,  and  every  soul  in  it  hanged, 
as  the  king  had  sworn,  except  Bertrand  de  Gourdon. 
He  was  brought  into  the  king's  tent,  heavily  chained. 

"  Knave !"  cried  Richard,  "  what  have  I  done  to 
you  that  you  should  take  my  life  ?" 

"  You  have  killed  ray  father  and  my  two  brothers," 
answered  the  youth.  "  You  would  have  hanged  me. 
Let  me  die  now,  by  any  torture  you  will.  My  com- 
fort is  that  no  tortui-e  to  me  can  save  you.  You,  too, 
must  die ;  and  through  me  the  world  is  quit  of  you." 

The  king  looked  at  him  steadily,  and  with  a  gleam 
of  clemency  in  his  eyes. 

"  Youth,"  he  said,  "  I  forgive  you.     Go  unhurt." 

Then  turning  to  his  chief  captain,  he  said, — 

"  Take  off  his  chains,  give  him  a  hundred  shillings, 
and  let  him  depart." 

He  fell  back  on  his  couch,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
was  dead,  having  signalized  his  last  moments  with 
an  act  of  clemency  which  had  had  few  counterparts 


THE   CAPTIVITY  OP   RICHARD   CCEUR   DE   LION.       99 

in  his  life.  His  clemency  was  not  matched  by  his 
piety.  The  priests  who  were  present  at  his  dying 
bed  exhorted  him  to  repentance  and  restitution,  but 
he  drove  them  away  with  bitter  mockery,  and  died 
as  hardened  a  sinner  as  he  had  lived. 

As  for  Bertrand,  the  chronicles  say  that  he  failed 
to  profit  by  the  kindness  of  the  king.  A  deaa  mon- 
arch's voice  has  no  weight  in  the  land.  The  par- 
doned youth  was  put  to  death. 


A  CONTEST  FOR  A  CROWN, 

Terrible  was  the  misery  of  England.  Tom  be- 
tween contending  factions,  like  a  deer  between 
snarling  wolves,  the  people  suffered  martyrdom,  while 
thieves  and  assassins,  miscalled  soldiers,  and  brigands, 
miscalled  nobles,  ravaged  the  land  and  tortured  its 
inhabitants.  Outrage  was  law,  and  death  the  only 
refuge  from  barbarity,  and  at  no  time  in  the  history 
of  England  did  its  people  endure  such  misery  as  in 
those  years  of  the  loosening  of  the  reins  of  justice 
and  mercy  which  began  with  1139  a.d. 

It  was  the  autumn  of  the  year  named.  At  every 
port  of  England  bands  of  soldiers  were  landing,  with 
arms  and  baggage ;  along  every  road  leading  from 
the  coast  bands  of  soldiers  were  marching ;  in  every 
town  bands  of  soldiers  were  mustering  ;  here  joining 
in  friendly  union,  there  coming  into  hostile  contact, 
for  they  represented  rival  parties,  and  were  speeding 
to  the  gathering  points  of  their  respective  leaders. 

All  England  was  in  a  ferment,  men  everywhere 
arming  and  marching.  All  Normandy  was  in  tur- 
moil, soldiers  of  fortune  crowding  to  every  port,  eager 
to  take  part  in  the  harrying  of  the  island  realm. 
The  Norman  nobles  of  England  were  everywhere 
fortifying  their  castles,  which  had  been  sternly  pro- 
100 


A   CONTEST    FOR   A    CROWN.  101 

hibited  by  the  recent  king.  Law  and  authority 
were  for  the  time  being  abrogated,  and  every  man 
was  preparing  to  fight  for  his  own  hand  and  his  own 
land.  A  single  day,  almost,  had  divided  the  Nor- 
mans of  England  into  two  factions,  not  yet  come  to 
blows,  but  facing  each  other  lilce  wild  beasts  at  bay. 
And  England  and  the  English  wei*e  the  prey  craved 
by  both  these  herds  of  human  wolves. 

There  were  two  Claimants  to  the  throne:  Matilda, 
— or  Maud,  as  she  is  usually  named, — daughter  of 
Henry  I.,  and  Stephen  of  Blois,  grandson  of  Wil- 
liam the  Conqueror.  Henry  had  named  his  daughter 
as  his  successor;  Stephen  seized  the  throne;  the 
issue  was  sharply  drawn  between  them.  Maud's 
mother  had  been  of  ancient  English  descent,  which 
gave  her  popularity  among  the  Saxon  inhabitants 
of  the  land.  Stephen  was  personally  popular,  a 
good-humored,  generous  prodigal,  his  very  faults 
tending  to  make  him  a  favorite.  Yet  he  was  born 
to  be  a  swordsman,  not  a  king,  and  his  only  idea  of 
royalty  was  to  let  the  land  rule — or  misrule  if  it 
preferred — itself,  while  he  enjoyed  the  pleasures  and 
declined  the  toils  of  kingship. 

A  few  words  will  suffice  to  bring  the  history  of 
those  turbulent  times  up  to  the  date  of  the  opening 
of  our  story.  The  death  of  Henry  I.  was  followed 
by  anarchy  in  England.  His  daughter  Maud,  wife 
of  Geoffry  the  Handsome,  Count  of  Anjou,  was 
absent  from  the  land.  Stephen,  Count  of  Blois,  and 
son  of  Adela,  the  Conqueror's  daughter,  was  the  first 
to  reach  it.  Speeding  across  the  Channel,  he  hurried 
through  England,  then  in  the  turmoil  of  lawlessness, 
9* 


102  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

no  noble  joining  him,  no  town  opening  to  him  its 
gates,  until  London  was  reached.  There  the  coldness 
of  his  route  was  replaced  by  the  utmost  warmth  of 
welcome.  The  city  poured  from  its  gates  to  meet 
him,  hastened  to  elect  him  king,  swore  to  defend  him 
with  blood  and  treasure,  and  only  demanded  in  re- 
turn that  the  new  king  should  do  his  utmost  to 
pacify  the  realm. 

Here  Stephen  failed.  He  was  utterly  unfit  to 
govern.  While  he  thought  only  of  profligate  enjoy- 
ment, the  barons  fortified  their  castles  and  became 
petty  kings  in  their  several  domains.  The  great 
prelates  followed  their  example.  Then,  for  the  first 
time,  did  Stephen  awake  from  his  dream  of  pleasure 
and  attempt  to  play  the  king.  He  seized  Eoger, 
Bishop  of  Salisbury,  and  threw  him  into  prison  to 
force  him  to  surrender  his  fortresses.  This  precipi- 
tated the  trouble  that  brooded  over  England.  The 
king  lost  the  support  of  the  clergy  by  his  violence  to 
their  leader,  alienated  many  of  the  nobles  by  his 
hasty  action,  and  gave  Maud  the  opportunity  for 
which  she  had  waited.  She  lost  no  time  in  offering 
herself  to  the  English  as  a  claimant  to  the  crown. 

Her  landing  was  made  on  the  22d  of  Septembei, 
1139,  on  the  coast  of  Sussex.  Here  she  threw  her- 
self into  Arundel  Castle,  and  quickly  afterwards  made 
her  way  to  Bristol  Castle,  then  held  by  her  illegiti- 
mate brother,  Robert,  Earl  of  Gloucester. 

And  now  the  state  of  affairs  we  had  described 
began.  The  nobles  of  the  north  and  west  of  England 
renounced  their  allegiance  to  Stephen  and  swore 
allegiance  to  Maud.     London  and  the  east  remained 


A   CONTEST   FOR  A   CROWN.  103 

faithful  to  the  king.  A  stream  of  men-at-arms,  hired 
by  both  factions,  poured  from  the  neighboring  coast 
of  Normandy  into  the  disputed  realm.  Each  side 
had  promised  them,  for  their  pay,  the  lands  and 
wealth  of  the  other.  Like  vultures  to  the  feast  they 
came,  with  little  heed  to  the  rights  of  the  rival  claim- 
ants and  the  wrongs  of  the  people,  with  much  heed 
to  their  own  private  needs  and  ambitions. 

In  England  such  anarchy  ruled  as  that  land  of 
much  intestine  war  has  rarely  witnessed.  The  Nor- 
man nobles  prepared  in  haste  for  the  civil  war,  and 
in  doing  so  made  the  English  their  prey.  To  raise 
the  necessary  funds,  many  of  them  sold  their  do- 
mains, townships,  and  villages,  with  the  inhabitants 
thereof  and  all  their  goods.  Others  of  them  made 
forays  on  the  lands  of  those  of  the  opposite  faction, 
and  seized  cattle,  horses,  sheep,  and  men  alike,  car- 
rying off  the  English  in  chains,  that  they  might 
force  them  by  tortiu-e  to  yield  what  wealth  they 
possessed. 

Terror  ruled  supreme.  The  realm  was  in  a  panic 
of  dread.  So  great  was  the  alarm,  that  the  inhabi- 
tants of  city  and  town  alike  took  to  flight  if  they 
saw  a  distant  group  of  horsemen  approaching.  Three 
or  four  armed  men  were  enough  to  empty  a  town  of 
its  inhabitants.  It  was  in  Bristol,  where  Maud  and 
her  foreign  troops  lay,  that  the  most  extreme  terror 
prevailed.  All  day  long  men  were  being  brought 
into  the  city  bound  and  gagged.  The  citizens  had 
no  immunity.  Soldiers  mingled  among  them  in  dis- 
guise, their  arms  concealed,  their  talk  in  the  English 
tongue,  strolling  through  markets  and  streets,  listeij 


104  HISTORICAL     TALES. 

ing  to  the  popular  chat,  and  then  suddenly  seizing 
any  one  who  seemed  to  bo  in  easy  circumstances. 
These  they  would  drag  to  their  head-quarters  and 
hold  to  ransom. 

The  air  was  filled  with  tales  of  the  frightful  bar- 
barities practised  by  the  Norman  nobles  on  the  un- 
happy English  captives  in  the  depths  of  their  gloomy 
castles.  "  They  carried  off,"  says  the  Saxoa  chronicle, 
"  all  who  they  thought  possessed  any  property,  men 
and  women,  by  day  and  by  night ;  and  whilst  they 
kept  them  imprisoned,  they  inflicted  on  them  tortures, 
such  as  no  martyr  ever  underwent,  in  order  to  obtain 
srold  and  silver  from  them."  We  must  be  excused 
from  quoting  the  details  of  these  tortures. 

"  They  killed  many  thousands  of  people  by  hunger," 
continues  the  chronicle.  "  They  imposed  tribute  after 
tribute  upon  the  towns  and  villages,  calling  this  in 
their  tongue  tenserie.  When  the  citizens  had  nothing 
more  to  give  them,  they  plundered  and  burnt  the 
town.  You  might  have  travelled  a  whole  day  with- 
out finding  a  single  soul  in  the  towns,  or  a  cultivated 
field.  The  poor  died  of  hunger,  and  those  who  had 
been  formerly  well-off  begged  their  bread  from  door 
to  door.  Whoever  had  it  in  his  power  to  leave  Eng- 
land did  so.  Never  was  a  country  delivered  up  to 
so  many  miseries  and  misfortunes ;  even  in  the  in- 
vasions of  the  pagans  it  suffered  less  than  now. 
Neither  the  cemeteries  nor  the  churches  were  spared  ; 
they  seized  all  they  could,  and  then  set  fire  to  the 
church.  To  till  the  ground  was  useless.  It  was 
openly  reported  that  Christ  and  his  saints  wero 
Bleeping." 


A  CONTEST   FOR  A   CROWN.  105 

One  cannot  but  think  that  this  frightful  picture 
is  Bomewhat  overdrawn  ;  yet  nothing  could  indicate 
better  the  condition  of  a  Middle-Age  country  under 
a  weak  king,  and  torn  by  the  adherents  of  rival 
claimants  to  the  throne. 

Let  us  leave  this  tale  of  torture  and  horror  and 
turn  to  that  of  war.  In  the  conflict  between  Steplien 
and  Maud  the  king  took  the  first  step.  He  led  his 
army  against  Bristol.  It  proved  too  strong  for  him, 
and  his  soldiers,  in  revenge,  burnt  the  environs,  after 
robbing  them  of  all  they  could  yield.  Then,  leaving 
Bristol,  he  turned  against  the  castles  on  the  Welsh 
borders,  nearly  aU  of  whose  lords  had  declared  for 
Maud. 

From  the  laborious  task  of  reducing  these  castles 
he  was  suddenly  recalled  by  an  insurrection  in  the 
territory  so  far  faithful  to  him.  The  fens  of  Ely,  in 
whose  recesses  Ilereward  the  Wake  had  defied  the 
Conquerer,  now  became  the  stronghold  of  a  Xor- 
man  revolt.  A  baron  and  a  bishop,  Baldwin  de 
Eevier  and  Lenior,  Bishop  of  Ely,  built  stone  in- 
trenchments  on  the  island,  and  defied  the  king  from 
behind  the  watery  shelter  of  the  fens. 

Hither  flocked  the  partisans  of  Maud  ;  hither  came 
Stephen,  filled  with  warlike  furj".  He  lacked  the 
qualities  that  make  a  king,  but  he  had  those  that  go 
to  make  a  soldier.  The  methods  of  the  Conqueror 
in  attacking  Hereward  were  followed  by  Stephen  in 
assailing  his  foes.  Bridges  of  boats  were  built  across 
the  fens ;  over  these  the  king's  cavalry  made  their 
way  to  the  firm  soil  of  the  island;  a  fierce  conflict 
ensued,  ending  in  the  rout  of  the  soldiers  of  Baldwin 


106  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

and  Lenior.  The  bishop  fled  to  Gloucester,  whither 
Maud  had  now  proceeded. 

Thus  far  the  king  had  kept  the  field,  while  hia 
rival  lay  intrenched  in  her  strongholds.  But  her 
party  was  earnestly  at  work.  The  barons  of  the 
Welsh  inarches,  whose  castles  had  been  damaged  by 
the  king,  repaired  them.  Even  the  towers  of  the 
great  churches  were  filled  with  war-engines  and  con- 
verted into  fortresses,  ditches  being  dug  in  the 
church-yards  around,  with  little  regard  to  the  fact 
that  the  bones  of  the  dead  were  unearthed  and  scat- 
tered over  the  soil.  The  Norman  bishops,  completely 
armed,  and  mounted  on  war-horses,  took  part  in  these 
operations,  and  were  no  more  scrupulous  than  the 
barons  in  torturing  the  English  to  force  from  them 
their  hoarded  gold  and  silver. 

Those  were  certainly  not  the  days  of  merry  Eng- 
land. Nor  were  they  days  of  pious  England,  when 
the  heads  of  the  church,  armed  with  sword  and  spear, 
led  armies  against  their  foes.  In  truth,  a  bishop 
ended  that  first  phase  of  the  war.  The  Bishop  of 
Chester  rallied  the  troops  which  had  fled  from  Ely. 
These  grew  by  rapid  accretions  until  a  new  army 
was  in  the  field.  Stephen  attacked  it,  but  the  enemy 
held  their  own,  and  his  troops  were  routed.  The}' 
fled  on  all  sides,  leaving  the  king  alone  in  the  midst 
of  his  foes.  He  lacked  not  courage.  Single-handed 
he  defended  himself  against  a  throng  of  assailants. 
But  his  men  were  in  flight ;  he  stood  alone ;  it  was 
death  or  surrender;  he  yielded  himself  prisoner. 
He  was  taken  to  Gloucester,  and  thence  to  Bristol 
castle,  in  whose  dungeons  he  was  imprisoned.     For 


A   CONTEST   FOR  A    CROWN.  107 

the  time  being  the  war  was  at  an  end.     Maud  was 
queen. 

The  daughter  of  Henry  might  have  reigned  during 
the  remainder  of  her  life  but  for  pride  and  folly,  two 
faults  fitted  to  wreck  the  best-built  cause.  All  was 
on  her  side  except  herself.  Her  own  arrogance 
drove  her  from  the  throne  before  it  had  grown  warm 
from  her  sitting. 

For  the  time,  indeed,  Stephen's  cause  seemed  lost. 
He  was  in  a  dungeon  strongly  guarded  by  his  adver- 
saries. His  partisans  went  over  in  crowds  to  the 
opposite  side, — his  own  brother,  Henry,  Bishop  of 
Winchester,  with  them.  The  English  peasants,  em- 
bittered by  their  oppression,  rose  against  the  beaten 
army,  and  took  partial  revenge  for  their  wrongs  by 
plundering  and  maltreating  the  defeated  and  dispersed 
soldiers  in  their  flight. 

Maud  made  hci-  way  to  Winchester,  her  progress 
being  one  of  royal  ostentation.  Her  entr}^  to  the 
town  was  like  a  Roman  triumph.  She  was  received 
with  all  honor,  was  voted  queen  in  a  great  convoca- 
tion of  nobles,  prelates,  and  knights,  and  seized  the 
royal  regalia  and  the  treasures  of  her  vanquished  foe. 
All  would  have  gone  well  with  her  had  not  good  for- 
tune  turned  her  brain.  Pride  and  a  haughty  spirit 
led  to  her  hasty  downfall. 

She  grew  arrogant  and  disdainful.  Those  who  had 
made  her  queen  found  their  requests  met  with  re- 
fusal, their  advice  rejected  with  scorn.  Those  of  the 
opposite  party  who  had  joined  her  were  harshly 
treated.  Her  most  devoted  friends  and  adherents 
soon  grew  weak  in  their  loyally,  and  many  witLdrow 


108  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

from  tlie  court,  with  the  feeling  that  they  had  been 
fools  to  support  this  haughty  woman  against  the 
Cjenerous-hearted  soldier  who  lay  in  Bristol  dungeon. 

From  Winchester  Maud  proceeded  to  London, 
after  having  done  her  cause  as  much  harm  as  she 
well  could  in  the  brief  time  at  her  disposal.  She 
was  looked  for  in  the  capital  city  with  sentiments 
of  hope  and  pride.  Her  mother  had  been  English, 
and  the  English  citizens  felt  a  glow  of  enthusiasm 
to  feel  that  one  whose  blood  was  even  half  Saxon 
was  coming  to  rule  over  them.  Their  pride  quickly 
changed  into  anger  and  desire  for  revenge. 

Maud  signalized  her  entrance  into  London  by  lay- 
ing on  the  citizens  an  enormous  poll-tax.  Stephen  had 
done  his  utmost  to  beggar  them ;  famine  threatened 
them ;  in  extreme  distress  they  prayed  the  queen  to 
give  them  time  to  recover  from  their  present  miseries 
before  lajdng  fresh  taxes  on  them. 

"  The  king  has  left  us  nothing,"  said  their  deputies, 
humbly. 

"  I  understand,"  answered  Maud,  with  haughty 
disdain.  "  that  you  have  given  all  to  my  adversary 
and  have  conspired  with  him  against  me ;  now  you 
expect  me  to  spare  you.     You  shall  pay  the  tax." 

"  Then,"  pleaded  the  deputies,  "  give  us  something 
in  return.  Eestore  to  us  the  good  laws  of  thy  great 
uncle,  Edward,  in  place  of  those  of  thy  father,  King 
Henry,  which  are  bad  and  too  harsh  for  us." 

Whom  the  gods  wish  to  destroy  they  first  make 
mad.  The  queen  listened  to  the  deputies  in  a  rage, 
treated  them  as  if  they  had  been  guilty  of  untold 
insolence  in  daring  to  make  this  request,  and  with 


A   CONTEST   FOR  A   CROWN.  109 

harsh  menaces  drove  them  from  her  presence,  bidding 
them  to  see  that  the  tax  was  paid,  or  London  should 
Buffer  bitterly  for  its  contumacy. 

The  deputies  withdrew  with  a  shovs^  of  respect, 
but  with  fury  in  their  hearts,  and  repaired  to  their 
council-chamber,  whence  the  news  of  what  had  taken 
place  sped  rapidly  through  the  city.  In  her  palace 
Queen  Maud  waited  in  proud  security,  nothing  doubt- 
ing that  she  had  humbled  those  insolent  citizens,  and 
that  the  deputies  would  soon  return  ready  to  creep 
on  their  knees  to  the  foot  of  her  throne  and  offer  a 
golden  recompense  for  their  daring  demand  for  milder 
laws. 

Suddenly  the  bells  of  London  began  to  ring.  In 
the  streets  adjoining  the  palace  loud  voices  were 
heard.  People  seemed  gathering  rapidly.  What 
did  it  mean  ?  Were  these  her  humbled  citizens  of 
London?  Surely  there  were  threats  mingled  with 
those  harsh  cries  I  Threats  against  the  queen  who 
had  just  entered  London  in  triumph  and  been  received 
with  such  hearty  enthusiasm  1  Were  the  Londoners 
mad? 

She  would  have  thought  so  had  she  been  in  the 
streets.  From  every  house  issued  a  man,  armed  with 
the  first  weaj^on  he  could  find,  his  face  inflamed  with 
anger.  They  flocked  out  as  tumultuously  as  bees 
from  a  hive,  says  an  old  writer.  The  streets  of 
London,  lately  quiet,  were  now  filled  with  a  noisy 
throng,  all  hastening  towards  the  palace,  all  uttering 
threats  against  this  haughty  foreign  woman,  who 
must  have  lost  every  drop  of  her  English  blood,  they 
declared. 

10 


110  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

The  palace  was  filled  with  alarm.  It  looked  as  if 
the  queen's  Norman  blood  would  be  lost  as  well  as 
that  from  her  English  sires.  She  had  men-at-arms 
around  her,  but  not  enough  to  be  of  avail  against 
the  clustering  citizens  in  those  narrow  and  crooked 
streets.  Flight,  and  that  a  speedy  one,  was  all  that 
remained.  White  with  terror,  the  queen  took  to 
horse,  and,  surrounded  by  her  knights  and  soldiers, 
fled  from  London  with  a  haste  that  illy  accorded  with 
the  stately  and  deliberate  pride  with  which  she  had 
recently  entered  that  turbulent  capital. 

She  was  none  too  soon.  The  frightened  cortege 
had  not  left  the  palace  far  behind  it  before  the 
maddened  citizens  burst  open  its  doors,  searched 
every  nook  and  cranny  of  the  building  for  the  queen 
and  her  body-guard,  and,  finding  they  had  fled, 
wreaked  their  wrath  on  all  that  was  left,  plundering 
the  apartments  of  all  they  contained. 

Meanwhile,  the  queen,  wild  with  fright,  was  gallop- 
ing at  full  speed  from  the  hostile  beehive  she  had 
disturbed.  Her  barons  and  knights,  in  a  panic  of 
fear  and  deeming  themselves  hotly  pursued,  dropped 
off  from  the  party  one  by  one,  hoping  for  safety  by 
leaving  the  highway  for  the  by-ways,  and  caring  little 
for  the  queen  so  that  they  saved  their  frightened 
selves.  The  queen  rode  on  in  mad  terror  until  Oxford 
was  reached,  only  her  brother,  the  Earl  of  Gloucester, 
and  a  few  others  keeping  her  company  to  that  town. 

They  fled  from  a  shadow.  The  citizens  had  not 
pursued  them.  These  turbulent  tradesmen  were 
content  with  ridding  London  of  this  power-mad 
woman,  and  they  went  back  satisfied  tu  their  homes, 


A   CONTEST   FOR   A   CROWN.  Ill 

leaving  the  city  open  to  occupation  by  the  partisans 
of  Stephen,  who  entered  it  under  pretense  of  an 
alliance  with  the  citizens.  The  Bishop  of  Winchester, 
who  seems  to  have  been  something  of  a  weather- 
cock in  his  political  faith,  turned  again  to  his  brother's 
Bide,  set  Stephen's  banner  afloat  on  Windsor  Castle, 
and  converted  his  bishop's  residence  into  a  fortress. 
Eobert  of  Gloucester  came  with  Maud's  troops  to 
besiege  it.  The  garrison  set  fire  to  the  surrounding 
houses  to  annoy  the  besiegers.  While  the  town  was 
burning,  an  array  from  London  appeared,  fiercely 
attacked  the  assailants,  and  forced  them  to  take 
refuse  in  the  churches.  These  were  set  on  fire  to 
drive  out  the  fugitives.  The  affair  ended  in  Eobert 
of  Gloucester  being  taken  prisoner  and  his  followers 
dispersed. 

Then  once  more  the  Saxon  peasants  swarmed  from 
their  huts  like  hornets  from  their  hives  and  assailed 
the  fugitives,  as  they  had  before  assailed  those  from 
Stephen's  army.  The  proud  Normans,  whose  lan- 
guage betrayed  tbem  in  spite  of  their  attempts  at 
disguise,  were  robbed,  stripped  of  their  clothing, 
and  driven  along  the  roads  by  whips  in  the  hands  of 
Saxon  serfs,  who  thus  repaid  themselves  for  many 
an  act  of  wrong.  The  Bishop  of  Canterbury  and 
other  high  prelates  and  numbers  of  great  lords 
were  thus  maltreated,  and  for  once  were  thoroughly 
humbled  by  those  despised  islanders  whom  their 
fathers  had  enslaved. 

Thus  ended  the  second  act  in  this  drama  of  con- 
quest and  re-conquest.  Maud,  deprived  of  her  brother, 
was  helpless.     She  exchanged  him  for  King  Stephen, 


112  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

and  the  war  broke  out  afresh.  Stephen  laid  siege  to 
Oxford,  and  pressed  it  so  closely  that  once  more  Maud 
took  to  flight.  It  was  midwinter.  The  ground  was 
covered  with  snow.  Dressing  herself  from  head  to 
foot  in  white,  and  accompanied  by  three  kniglits 
similarly  attired,  she  slipped  out  of  a  postern  in  the 
hope  of  being  unseen  against  the  whiteness  of  the 
enow- clad  surface. 

Stephen's  camp  was  asleep,  its  sentinels  alone  being 
astir.  The  scared  fugitives  glided  on  foot  through 
the  snow,  passing  close  to  the  enemy's  posts,  the 
voices  of  the  sentinels  sounding  in  their  ears.  On 
foot  they  crossed  the  fi'ozen  Thames,  gained  horses 
on  the  opposite  side,  and  galloped  away  in  haBty 
flight. 

There  is  little  more  to  say.  Maud's  cause  was  at 
an  end.  Not  long  afterwards  her  brother  died,  and 
she  withdrew  to  Normandy,  glad,  doubtless,  to  be 
well  out  of  that  pestiferous  island,  but,  mayhap, 
mourning  that  her  arrogant  folly  had  robbed  her  of 
a  throne. 

A  few  years  afterwards  her  son  Henry  took  up 
her  cause,  fought  with  Stephen,  and  at  length  ended 
the  war  by  a  truce,  which  provided  that  Henry 
should  reign  after  Stephen's  death.  Stephen  died  a 
year  afterwards,  England  gained  an  able  monarch, 
and  prosperity  returned  to  the  realm  after  fifteen 
years  of  the  most  frightful  misery  and  misrule. 


ROBIN  HOOD  AND  THE  KNIGHT 
OF  THE  RUEFUL  COUNTE^ 
NANCE. 

""Where  will  tho  old  duke  live?"  asks  Oliver,  in 
Shakespeare's  "  As  you  like  it." 

"  They  say  he  is  already  in  the  forest  of  Arden," 
answers  Charles,  "  and  a  many  merry  men  with  him ; 
and  there  they  live  like  the  old  Eobin  Hood  of 
England,  and  fleet  the  time  carelessly  as  they  did  in 
the  golden  world." 

Many  a  merry  man,  indeed,  was  there  with  Eobin 
Hood  in  Sherwood  forest,  and,  if  we  may  believe  the 
stories  that  live  in  the  heart  of  English  song,  there 
they  fleeted  the  time  as  carelessly  as  men  did  in  the 
golden  age  ;  for  Eobin  was  king  of  the  merry  green- 
wood, as  tho  Norman  kings  were  lords  of  the  realm 
beside,  and  though  his  state  was  not  so  great  nor  his 
cofiers  so  full,  his  heart  was  merrier  and  his  con- 
science more  void  of  offence  against  man  and  God. 
If  Eobin  Uved  by  plunder,  so  did  the  king;  the  one 
took  toll  from  a  few  travellers,  the  other  from  a 
kingdom ;  the  one  dealt  hard  blows  in  self-defence, 
the  other  killed  thousands  in  war  for  self-aggrandize, 
ment ;  the  one  was  a  patriot,  tho  other  an  invader. 
Verily  Eobin  was  far  the  honester  man  of  the  two, 
and  most  worthy  the  admiration  of  mankind. 
II.— A  10*  118 


114  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Nor  was  the  kingdom  of  Eobin  Hood  so  much  less 
extensive  than  that  of  England's  king  as  men  may 
deem,  though  its  tenants  were  fewer  and  its  revenues 
less.  For  in  those  days  forest  land  spread  widely 
over  the  English  isle.  The  Norman  kings  had 
driven  out  the  old  inhabitants  far  and  wide,  and 
planted  forests  in  place  of  towns,  peopling  them  with 
deer  in  place  of  men.  In  its  way  this  was  merciful, 
perhaps.  Those  rude  old  kings  were  not  content 
unless  they  were  hunting  and  killing,  and  it  was 
better  they  should  kill  deer  than  men.  But  their 
cruel  game-laws  could  not  keep  men  from  the  forests, 
and  the  woods  they  planted  served  as  places  of  shelter 
for  the  outlaws  they  made. 

William  the  Conqueror,  so  we  are  told,  had  no  less 
than  sixty-eight  forests,  peopled  with  deer,  and 
guarded  against  intrusion  of  common  man  by  a  cruel 
interdict.  His  successors  added  new  forests,  until  it 
looked  as  if  England  might  be  made  all  woodland, 
and  the  red  deer  its  chief  inhabitants.  Sherwood 
forest,  the  favorite  lurking-place  of  the  bold  Eobin, 
stretched  for  thirty  miles  in  an  unbroken  line.  But 
this  was  only  part  of  Eobin's  "realm  of  plesaunce." 
From  Sherwood  it  was  but  a  step  to  other  forests, 
stretching  league  after  league,  and  peopled  by  ban  is 
of  merry  rovers,  who  laughed  at  the  king's  laws,  killed 
and  ate  his  cherished  deer  at  their  own  sweet  wills, 
and  defied  sheriff  and  man-at-arms,  the  dense  forest 
depths  affording  them  innumerable  lurking-places, 
their  skill  with  the  bow  enabUng  them  to  defend 
their  domain  from  assault,  and  to  exact  tribute  from 
their  foes. 


EOBIN   HOOD  AND   THE   KNIGHT.  115 

Such  was  the  realm  of  Eobin  Hood,  a  realm  of 
giant  oaks  and  silvery  birches,  a  realm  prodigal  of 
trees,  o'ercanopied  with  green  leaves  until  the  sun 
had  ado  to  send  his  rays  downward,  carpeted  with 
brown  moss  and  emerald  grasses,  thicketed  with  a 
rich  undergrowth  of  bryony  and  clematis,  prickly 
holly  and  golden  furze,  and  a  host  of  minor  shrubs, 
while  some  parts  of  the  forest  were  so  dense  that,  as 
Camden  says,  the  entangled  branches  of  the  thickly- 
set  trees  "  were  so  twisted  together,  that  they  hardly 
left  room  for  a  person  to  pass." 

Here  were  innumerable  hiding-places  for  the  for- 
est outlaws  when  hunted  too  closely  by  their  foes. 
They  lacked  not  food ;  the  forest  was  filled  with 
grazing  deer  and  antlered  stags.  There  was  also 
abundance  of  smaller  game, — the  hare,  the  coney, 
the  roe ;  and  of  birds, — the  partridge,  pheasanc, 
woodcock,  mallard,  and  heron.  Fuel  could  be  had 
in  profusion  when  fire  was  needed.  For  winter  shel- 
ter there  were  many  caverns,  for  Sherwood  forest 
is  remarkable  for  its  number  of  such  places  of 
refuge,  some  made  by  nature,  others  excavated  by 
man. 

Happy  must  have  been  the  life  in  this  greenwood 
realm,  jolly  the  outlaws  who  danced  and  sang 
beneath  its  shades,  merry  as  the  day  was  long  their 
hearts  while  summer  ruled  the  year,  while  even  in 
drear  winter  they  had  their  caverns  of  refuge,  their 
roaring  wood-fires,  and  the  spoils  of  the  year's  forays 
to  carry  them  through  the  season  of  cold  and  storm. 
A  follower  of  bold  Eobin  might  truly  sing,  with 
Shakespiare, — 


116  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

*'  Under  the  greenwood  tree, 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me, 
And  tune  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither : 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy, 
But  winter  and  rough  weather." 

But  the  life  of  the  forest-dwellers  was  not  spent 
Bolely  in  enjoyment  of  the  pleasures  of  the  raerry 
greenwood.  They  were  hunted  by  men,  and  became 
hunters  of  men.  True  English  hearts  theirs,  all 
Englishmen  their  friends,  all  Normans  their  foes,  they 
were  in  no  sense  brigands,  but  defenders  of  their 
soil  against  the  foreign  foe  who  had  overrun  it,  the 
successors  of  Hereward  the  Wake,  the  last  of  the 
English  to  bear  arms  against  the  invader,  and  to 
keep  a  shelter  in  which  the  English  heart  might 
still  beat  in  freedom. 

No  wonder  the  oppressed  peasants  and  serfs  of  the 
fields  sang  in  gleeful  strains  the  deeds  of  the  forest- 
dwellers  ;  no  wonder  that  Eobin  Hood  became  the 
hero  of  the  people,  and  that  the  homely  song  of  the 
land  was  full  of  stories  of  his  deeds.  We  can  scarcely 
call  these  historic  tales :  they  are  legendary,  tradi- 
tional; yet  it  may  well  be  that  a  stratum  of  fact 
underlies  the  aftergrowth  of  romance;  certainly 
they  were  history  to  the  people,  and  as  such,  with  a 
mental  reservation,  they  shall  be  history  to  us.  We 
propose,  therefore,  here  to  convert  into  prose  "a 
lytell  geste  of  Eobyn  Hode." 

It  was  a  day  in  merry  spring-tide.     Under  the 


ROBIN    HOOD   AND   TUE   KNIOnT.  117 

Bun-sprinklcd  shadows  of  the  "  woody  and  famous 
forest  of  Barnsdale"  (adjoining  vSherwood)  stood 
gathered  a  group  of  men  attired  in  Lincoln  green, 
bearing  long  bows  in  their  hands  and  quivers  of 
sharp-pointed  arrows  upon  their  shoulders,  hardy 
men  all,  strong  of  limb  and  bold  of  face. 

Leaning  against  an  oak  of  centuried  growth  stood 
Eobin  Hood,  the  famous  outlaw  chief,  a  strong  man 
and  sturdy,  with  handsome  face  and  merry  blue 
eyes,  one  fitted  to  dance  cheerily  in  days  of  festival, 
and  to  strike  valiantly  in  hours  of  conflict.  Beside 
him  stood  the  tall  and  stalwart  form  of  Little  John, 
whose  name  was  given  him  in  jest,  for  he  was  the 
stoutest  of  the  band.  There  also  were  valiant  Much, 
the  miller's  son,  gallant  Scathelock,  George  a  Green, 
the  pindar  of  AVakeficld,  the  fat  and  jolly  Friar  Tuck, 
and  many  another  woodsman  of  renown,  a  band  of 
lusty  archers  such  as  all  England  could  not  elsewhere 
match. 

"  Faith  o'  my  body,  the  hours  pass  apace,"  quoth 
Little  John,  looking  upward  through  the  trees.  "  Is 
it  not  time  we  should  dine  ?" 

"  I  am  not  in  the  mood  to  dine  without  company," 
said  Eobin.  "  Our  table  is  a  dull  one  without  guests. 
If  we  had  now  some  bold  baron  or  fat  abbot,  or  even 
a  knight  or  squire,  to  help  us  carve  our  haunch  of 
venison,  and  to  pay  his  scot  for  the  feast,  I  wot  mo 
all  our  appetites  would  bo  better." 

He  laughed  meaningly  as  he  looked  round  tho 
circle  of  faces. 

"  Marry,  if  such  be  your  whim,"  answered  Littlo 
John,  "  tell  us  whither  we  shall  go  to  find  a  guest  fit 


118  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

to  grace  our  greenwood  table,  and  of  what  rank  he 

Bhall  be." 

"  At  least  let  him  not  be  farmer  or  yeoman,"  said 
Eobin.  "  We  war  on  hawks,  not  on  doves.  If  you 
can  bring  me  a  bishop  now,  or,  i'  faith,  the  high- 
sheriff  of  Nottingham,  we  shall  dine  merrily.  Take 
Much  and  Scathelock  with  you,  and  away.  Bring 
me  earl  or  baron,  abbot  or  simple  knight,  or  squire, 
if  no  better  can  be  had  ;  the  fatter  their  purses  the 
better  shall  be  their  welcome." 

Taking  their  bows,  the  three  yeomen  strode  at  a 
brisk  pace  through  the  forest,  bent  upon  other  game 
than  deer  or  antler ed  stag.  On  reaching  the  forest 
edge  near  Barnsdale,  they  lurked  in  the  bushy 
shadows  and  kept  close  watch  and  ward  upon  the 
highway  that  there  skirted  the  wood,  in  hope  of 
finding  a  rich  relish  to  Eobin's  meal. 

Propitious  fortune  seemed  to  aid  their  quest. 
Not  long  had  they  bided  in  ambush  when,  afar  on 
the  road,  they  spied  a  knight  riding  towards  them. 
He  came  alone,  without  squire  or  follower,  and 
promised  to  be  an  easy  prey  to  the  trio  of  stout 
woodsmen.  But  as  he  came  near  they  saw  that 
something  was  amiss  with  him.  He  rode  with  one 
foot  in  the  stirrup,  the  other  hanging  loose ;  a  sim- 
ple hood  covered  his  head,  and  hung  negligently 
down  over  his  eyes ;  grief  or  despair  filled  his  vis- 
age, "a  soryer  man  than  he  rode  never  in  somer's 
day." 

Little  John  stepped  into  the  road,  courteously  bent 
his  knee  to  the  stranger,  and  bade  him  welcome  to 
the  greenwood. 


ROBIN   HOOD  AND   THE   KNIGHT.  119 

"  "Welcome  be  you,  gentle  kniglit,"  he  said  ;  "  my 
master  has  awaited  j-ou  fasting,  these  three  hours." 

"  Your  master — who  is  he  ?"  asked  the  knight, 
lifting  his  sad  eyes. 

"Eobin  Hood,  the  forest  chief,"  answered  Little 
John. 

"  And  a  lusty  yeoman  he,"  said  the  knight.  "  Men 
eay  much  good  of  him.  I  thought  to  dine  to-day  at 
Blythe  or  Dankaster,  but  if  jolly  Eobin  wants  me  I 
am  his  man.  It  matters  little,  save  that  I  have  no 
heart  to  do  justice  to  any  man's  good  cheer.  Lead 
on,  my  courteous  friend.  The  greenwood,  then,  shall 
be  my  dining-hall." 

Our  scene  now  changes  to  the  lodge  of  the  wood- 
land chief.  An  hour  had  passed.  A  merry  scene 
met  the  eye.  The  long  table  was  well  covered  with 
game  of  the  choicest,  swan,  pheasants,  and  river 
fowl,  and  with  roasts  and  steaks  of  venison,  which 
had  been  on  hoof  not  many  hours  before.  Around 
it  sat  a  jolly  company  of  foresters,  gi*een-clad  like 
the  trees  about  them.  At  its  head  sat  Eobin  Hood, 
his  handsome  face  lending  encouragement  to  the 
laughter  and  gleeful  chat  of  his  men.  Beside  him 
eat  the  knight,  sober  of  attire,  gloomy  of  face,  yet 
brightening  under  the  courteous  treatment  of  his 
host  and  the  gay  sallies  of  the  outlaw  band. 

"  Gramercy,  Sir  Woodman,"  said  the  knight,  when 
the  feast  was  at  an  end,  '•  such  a  dinner  as  you  have 
set  me  I  have  not  tasted  for  weeks.  When  I  come 
again  to  this  country  I  hope  to  repay  you  with  as 
good  a  one." 

"  A  truce  to  your  dinner,"  said  Eobin,  curtly.    "  All 


120  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

that  dine  in  our  woodland  inn  pay  on  the  spot,  Sir 
Knight.     It  is  a  good  rule,  I  wot." 

"  To  full  hands,  mayhap,"  said  the  knight ;  "  but 
I  dare  not,  for  very  shame,  proffer  you  what  is  in  my 
coffers." 

"  Is  it  80  little,  then  ?" 

"Ten  shillings  is  noL  wealth,"  said  the  knight. 
"  I  can  offer  you  no  more." 

"  Faith,  if  that  be  all,  keep  it,  in  God's  name;  and 
I'll  lend  you  more,  if  you  be  in  need.  Go  look.  Little 
John ;  we  take  no  stranger's  word  in  the  greenwood." 

John  examined  the  knight's  effects,  and  reported 
that  he  had  told  the  truth.  Eobin  gazed  curiously 
at  his  guest. 

"  I  held  you  for  a  knight  of  high  estate,"  he  said. 
"A  heedless  husbandman  you  must  have  been,  a 
gambler  or  wassailer,  to  have  brought  yourself  to 
this  sorry  pass.  An  empty  pocket  and  threadbare 
attire  ill  befit  a  kniglit  of  your  parts." 

"  You  wrong  me,  Eobin,"  said  the  knight,  sadly. 
"Misfortune,  not  sin,  has  beggared  me.  I  have 
nothing  left  but  my  children  and  my  wife ;  but  it  is 
through  no  deed  of  my  own.  My  son — my  heir  he 
should  have  been — slew  a  knight  of  Lancashire  and 
his  squire.  To  save  him  from  the  law  I  have  made 
myself  a  beggar.  Even  my  lands  and  house  must 
go,  for  I  have  pledged  them  to  the  abbot  of  St.  Mary 
as  surety  for  four  hundred  pounds  loaned  me.  I 
cannot  pay  him,  and  the  time  is  near  its  end.  I 
have  lost  hope,  good  sir,  and  am  on  my  way  to  the 
sea,  to  take  ship  for  the  Holy  Land.  Pardon  my 
tears,  I  leave  a  wife  and  children." 


ROBIN   HOOD   AND   THE   KNIGHT  121 

"  "WTiero  are  your  friends  ?"  asked  Robin. 

"  Where  are  the  last  year's  leaves  of  your  trees  ?" 
asked  the  knight.  "  They  were  fair  enough  while 
the  summer  sun  shone  ;  they  dropped  from  me  when 
the  winter  of  trouble  came." 

" Can  you  not  borrow  the  sum?"  asked  Robin. 

"  Not  a  groat,"  answered  the  knight.  "  I  have  no 
more  credit  than  a  beggar." 

"  Mayhap  not  with  the  usurers,"  said  Robin.  "  But 
the  greenwood  is  not  quite  bare,  and  your  face,  Sir 
Knight,  is  your  pledge  of  faith.  Go  to  my  treasury, 
Little  John,  and  see  if  it  will  not  yield  four  hundred 
pounds." 

"  I  can  promise  you  that,  and  more  if  need  be," 
answered  the  woodman.  "  But  our  worthy  knight 
is  poorly  clad,  and  we  have  rich  cloths  to  spare,  I 
wot.    Shall  we  not  add  a  livery  to  his  purse  ?" 

"As  you  will,  good  fellow,  and  forget  not  a  horse, 
for  our  guest's  mount  is  of  the  sorriest." 

The  knight's  sorrow  gave  way  to  hope  as  he  saw 
the  eagerness  of  the  generous  woodmen.  Little 
John's  "count  of  the  money  added  ample  interest; 
the  cloths  were  measured  with  a  bow-stick  for  a 
yard,  and  a  palfrey  was  added  to  the  courser,  to 
bear  their  welcome  gifts.  In  the  end  Robin  lent 
him  Little  John  for  a  squire,  and  gave  him  twelve 
months  in  which  to  repay  his  loan.  Away  he  went, 
no  longer  a  knight  of  rueful  countenance. 

«'  Nowe  as  the  knight  went  on  his  way, 
This  game  he  thought  full  gooJ, 
"When  ho  looked  on  Bernysdale 
He  blyssed  Robin  Hodc ; 
11 


122  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

"  And  when  lie  thought  on  Bernysdale, 
On  Scatheleck,  Much,  and  John, 
He  blyssed  them  for  the  best  company 
That  ever  he  in  come." 

The  next  day  was  that  fixed  for  the  payment;  of 
the  loan  to  the  abbot  of  St.  Mary's.  Abbot  and 
prior  waited  in  hope  and  excitement.  If  the  cash 
was  not  paid  by  night  a  rich  estate  would  fall  into 
their  hands.  Mercy  was  out  of  their  thoughts 
The  knight  must  pay  to  the  last  farthing,  or  be  beg- 
gared. A  "  fat-headed  monk,"  the  cellarer,  burst  in 
upon  them,  full  of  exultation. 

"  He  is  dead  or  hanged !"  he  cried.  "  We  shall 
have  our  four  hundred  pounds  many  times  over." 

With  these  worthies  was  the  liigh-justice  of  Eng- 
land and  the  sheriff  of  the  shire,  brought  there  to 
give  a  show  of  law  to  the  abbot's  greed.  Time  was 
passing,  an  hour  or  two  more  would  end  the  knight's 
grace,  only  a  narrow  space  of  time  lay  between  him 
and  beggary.  The  justice  had  just  turned  with 
congratulations  to  the  abbot,  when,  to  the  alarm  of 
these  lucre-loving  churchmen,  the  debtor,  Sir  Eich- 
ard  of  the  Lee,  appeared  at  the  gate  of  the  abbey, 
and  made  his  way  into  the  hall. 

Yet  he  was  shabbily  clad  ;  his  face  was  sombre ; 
there  seemed  little  occasion  for  alarm.  There  seemed 
none  when  ho  began  to  speak. 

"  Sir  Abbot,"  he  said,  "  I  come  to  hold  my  day." 

"  Hast  thou  brought  my  pay  ?"  asked  the  abbot. 

"  Not  one  penny,"  answered  the  knight. 

"  Thou  art  a  shrewd  debtor,"  declared  the  abbot, 
with  a  bok  of  delight.     "Sir  Justice,  drink  to  me. 


ROBIN   HOOD   AND   THE   KNIGHT.  123 

Wbai  brings  you  here  then,  sirrah,  if  you  fetch  no 
money  ?" 

"  To  pray  your  grace  for  a  longer  day,"  said  Sir 
Eichard,  humbly. 

"  Your  day  is  ended ;  not  an  hour  more  do  you 
get,"  cried  the  abbot. 

Sir  Eichard  now  appealed  to  the  justice  for  relief, 
and  after  him  to  the  sheriff,  but  to  both  in  vain. 
Then,  turning  to  the  abbot  again,  he  offered  to  bo 
his  servant,  and  work  for  him  till  the  four  hundred 
pounds  were  earned,  if  he  would  take  pity  on  him. 

This  appeal  was  lost  on  the  greedy  churchman. 
In  the  end  hot  words  passed,  and  the  abbot  angrily 
exclaimed, — 

*'  Out  of  my  hall,  thou  false  knight  1  Speed  thee 
out,  sirrah !" 

"  Abbot,  thou  liest,  I  was  never  false  to  my  word," 
said  Sir  Eichard,  proudlj^  "  You  lack  courtesy,  to 
Buffer  a  knight  to  kneel  and  beg  so  long.  I  am  a 
true  knight  and  a  true  man,  as  all  who  have  seen  me 
in  tournament  or  battle  will  say." 

"  What  more  will  you  give  the  knight  for  a  full 
release?"  asked  the  justice.  "  If  you  give  nothing, 
you  will  never  hold  his  lands  in  peace." 

"A  hundred  pounds,"  said  the  abbot. 

"  Give  him  two,"  said  the  justice. 

"  Not  so,"  cried  the  knight.  "  If  you  make  it  a 
thousand  more,  not  a  foot  of  my  land  shall  you  ever 
hold.  You  have  outwitted  yourself,  master  abbot, 
by  your  greed." 

Sir  Eichard's  humility  was  gone ;  his  voice  was 
clear  and  proud ;  the  churchmen  trembled,  here  was 


124  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

a  new  tone.  Turning  to  a  table,  the  knight  took  a 
bag  from  under  his  cloak,  and  shook  out  of  it  on  to 
the  board  a  ringing  heap  of  gold. 

"Here  is  the  gold  you  lent  me,  Sir  Abbot,"  he  cried. 
•*  Count  it.  You  will  find  it  four  hundred  pounds  to 
the  penny.  Had  you  been  courteous,  I  would  have 
been  generous.     As  it  is,  I  pay  not  a  penny  over  my 

due." 

'*  The  abbot  sat  styll,  and  ete  no  more 
For  all  his  ryall  chere  ; 
He  cast  his  head  on  his  sholder, 
And  fast  began  to  stare." 

So  ended  this  affair,  the  abbot  in  despair,  the 
knight  in  triumph,  the  justice  laughing  at  his  late 
friends  and  curtly  refusing  to  return  the  bribe  they 
had  paid  to  bring  him  there.  His  money  counted, 
his  release  signed,  the  knight  was  a  glad  man  again. 

"  The  knight  stert  out  of  the  dore, 
Awaye  was  all  his  care, 
And  on  he  put  his  good  clothynge, 
The  other  he  lefte  there. 

*'  He  wente  hym  fortbe  full  mery  syngynge, 
As  men  have  tolde  in  tale. 
His  ladj'  met  hym  at  the  gate, 
At  home  in  Wierysdale. 

"'Welcome,  my  lorde,'  sayd  his  lady; 

*  Syr,  lost  is  all  your  good  ?' 

*  Be  mery,  dame,'  said  the  knight, 

*  And  pray  for  Eobyn  Hode, 

*  ♦  That  ever  his  soule  be  in  blysse, 
He  holpe  me  out  of  my  tene ; 
Ne  had  not  be  his  kyndenesse, 
Beggers  had  we  ben.'  " 


ROBIN   HOOD   AND   THE    KNIGHT.  125 

The  story  wanders  on,  through  pages  of  verse 
like  the  above,  but  we  may  fitly  end  it  with  a  page 
of  prose.  The  old  singers  are  somewhat  proUx ;  it 
behooves  us  to  be  brief. 

A  twelvemonth  passed.  The  day  fixed  by  the 
knight  to  repay  his  friend  of  the  merry  greenwood 
came.  On  that  day  the  highway  skirting  the  forest 
was  made  brilliant  by  a  grand  array  of  ecclesiastics 
and  their  retainers,  at  their  head  no  less  a  personage 
than  the  fat-headed  cellarer  of  St.  Mary's. 

Unluckily  for  them,  the  outlaws  were  out  that  day, 
on  the  lookout  for  game  of  this  fat  breed,  and  the 
whole  pious  procession  was  swept  up  and  taken  to 
Kobin  Hood's  greenwood  court.  The  merry  fellow 
looked  at  his  new  guests  with  a  smile.  The  knight 
had  given  the  Virgin  as  his  security, — surely  the 
Virgin  had  taken  him  at  his  word,  and  sent  these 
holy  men  to  repay  her  debt. 

In  vain  the  high  cellarer  denied  that  he  repre- 
sented any  such  exalted  personage.  He  even  lied  as 
to  the  state  of  his  coffers.  It  was  a  lie  wasted,  for 
Little  John  served  him  as  he  had  the  knight,  and 
found  a  good  eight  hundred  pounds  in  the  monk's 
baggage. 

"Fill  him  with  wine  of  the  best!"  cried  Eobin. 
*'  Our  Lady  is  a  generous  debtor.  She  pays  double. 
Fill  him  with  wine  and  let  him  go.  He  has  paid 
well  for  his  dinner." 

Hardly  had  the  monk  and  his  train  gone,  in  dole 

and  grief,  before  another  and  merrier  train  was  seen 

winding  under  the  great  oaks  of  the  forest.     It  was 

the  knight  on  his  way  to  pay  his  debt.     After  him 

11* 


126  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

rode  a  hundred  men  clad  in  white  and  red,  and  bear 
ing  as  a  present  to  the  delighted  foresters  a  hun- 
dred bows  of  the  finest  quality,  each  with  its  sheaf 
of  arrows,  with  burnished  points,  peacock  feathers, 
and  notched  with  silver.    Each  shaft  was  an  ell  long. 

The  knight  begged  pardon.  He  had  been  delayed. 
On  his  way  he  had  met  a  poor  yeoman  who  was 
being  ill-treated.  He  had  stayed  to  rescue  him. 
The  sun  was  down ;  the  hour  passed  ;  but  he  bore 
his  full  due  to  the  generous  lords  of  the  greenwood. 

"You  come  too  late,"  said  Robin.  "The  Virgin, 
your  surety,  has  been  before  you  and  paid  your 
debt.  The  holy  monks  of  St.  Mary,  her  almoners, 
have  brought  it.  They  paid  well,  indeed ;  they  paid 
double.  Four  hundred  is  my  due,  the  other  four 
hundred  is  yours.  Take  it,  my  good  friend,  our 
Lady  sends  it,  and  dwell  henceforth  in  a  state  be- 
fitting your  knightly  station." 

Once  more  the  good  knight.  Sir  Hichard  of  the 
Lee,  dined  with  Eobin  Hood,  and  merry  went  the 
feast  that  day  under  the  greenwood  tree.  The  leaves 
of  Sherwood  still  laugh  with  the  mirth  that  then 
shook  their  bowery  arches.  Eobin  Hood  dwells 
there  no  more,  but  the  memory  of  the  mighty  archer 
and  his  merry  men  still  haunts  the  woodland  glades, 
and  will  while  a  lover  of  romance  dwells  in  Eng- 
land's  island  realm. 


WALLACE,   THE  HERO    OF 
SCOTLAND. 

On  a  summer's  day,  many  centuries  ago,  a  young 
gentleman  of  Scotland  was  fishing  in  the  river  Ir- 
vine, near  Ayr,  attended  by  a  boy  who  carried  his 
fishing-basket.  The  young  man  was  handsome  of 
face,  tall  of  figure,  and  strongly  built,  while  his  skill 
as  an  angler  was  attested  by  the  number  of  trout 
which  lay  in  the  boy's  basket.  While  he  was  tbus 
engaged  several  English  soldiers,  from  the  garrison 
of  Ayr,  came  up  to  the  angler,  and  with  the  inso- 
lence with  which  these  invaders  were  then  in  the 
habit  of  treating  the  Scotch,  insisted  on  taking  the 
basket  and  its  contents  from  the  boy. 

"  You  ask  too  much,"  said  Wallace,  quietly.  "  You 
are  welcome  to  a  part  of  the  fish,  but  j'ou  cannot 
have  them  all." 

"  That  we  will,"  answered  the  soldiers. 

"  That  you  will  not,"  retorted  the  youth.  "  I  have 
other  business  than  to  play  fisherman  for  your  bene- 
fit." 

The  soldiers  insisted,  and  attempted  to  take  the 
basket.  The  angler  came  to  the  aid  of  his  attend- 
ant. Words  were  followed  by  blows.  The  soldiers 
laid  hands  on  their  weapons.     The  youth  had  no 

127 


128  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

weapon  but  his  fishing-rod.  Eut  with  the  butt  end 
of  this  ho  struck  the  foremost  Englishman  so  hard 
a  blow  under  his  ear  that  he  stretched  him  dead 
upon  the  ground.  Seizing  the  man's  sword,  which 
had  fallen  from  his  hand,  he  attacked  the  others 
with  such  skill  and  fury  that  they  were  put  to  fligbt, 
and  the  bold  angler  was  enabled  to  take  his  fish 
safely  home. 

The  name  of  the  courageous  youth  was  William 
"Wallace.  He  was  the  son  of  a  private  gentleman, 
called  Wallace  of  Ellerslie,  who  had  brought  up  his 
boy  to  the  handling  of  warlike  weapons,  until  he  had 
grown  an  adept  in  their  use ;  and  also  to  a  hatred  of 
the  English,  which  was  redoubled  by  the  insolence 
of  the  soldiers  with  whom  Edward  I.  of  England 
had  garrisoned  the  country.  Like  all  high-spirited 
Scotchmen,  the  young  man  viewed  with  indignation 
the  conduct  of  the  conquerors  of  his  country,  and 
expressed  the  intensity  of  his  feeling  in  the  tragical 
manner  above  described. 

Wallace's  life  was  in  imminent  danger  from  his 
exploit.  The  affair  was  reported  to  the  English 
governor  of  Ayr,  who  sought  him  diligently,  and 
would  have  put  him  to  death  had  he  been  captured. 
But  he  took  to  the  hills  and  woods,  and  lay  concealed 
in  their  recesses  until  the  deed  was  forgotten,  being 
supplied  by  his  friends  with  the  necessaries  of  life. 
As  it  was  not  safe  to  return  to  Ayr  after  his  period 
of  seclusion,  he  made  his  way  to  another  part  of  the 
country,  where  his  bitter  hostility  to  the  English 
soon  led  him  into  other  encounters  with  them,  in 
which  his  strength,  skill,  and  courage  usually  brought 


■WALLACE,  THE   UERO   OP   SCOTLAND.  129 

him  off  victorious.  So  many  were  the  affairs  in 
which  ho  was  engaged,  and  so  great  his  daring  and 
success,  that  the  people  began  to  talk  of  him  as  the 
champion  of  Scotland,  while  the  English  grew  to 
fear  this  indomitable  young  swordsman. 

At  length  came  an  adventure  which  brought  mat- 
ters to  a  crisis.  Young  Wallace  had  married  a  lady 
of  Lanark,  and  had  taken  up  his  residence  in  that 
town  with  his  wife.  The  place  had  an  English  gar 
risen,  and  one  day,  as  Wallace  walked  in  the  market- 
place in  a  rich  green  dress,  with  a  handsome  dagger 
by  his  side,  an  Englishman  accosted  him  insultingly, 
saj'ing  that  no  Scotchman  had  the  right  to  wear 
such  finery  or  to  carry  so  showy  a  weapon. 

He  had  tried  his  insolence  on  the  wrong  man.  A 
quarrel  quickly  followed,  and,  as  on  similar  occasions 
before,  Wallace  killed  the  Englishman.  It  was  an 
unwise  act,  inspired  bj''  his  hasty  temper  and  fiery 
indignation.  His  peril  was  great.  He  hastened  to 
his  house,  which  was  quickly  attacked  by  soldiers  of 
the  garrison.  While  they  were  seeking  to  break  in 
at  the  front,  Wallace  escaped  at  the  rear,  and  made 
his  way  to  a  rocky  glen,  called  the  Cortland-crags, 
near  the  town,  where  he  found  a  secure  hiding-place 
among  its  thick-growing  trees  and  bushes. 

jyieanwhile,  the  governor  of  Lanark,  Hazelrigg  by 
name,  finding  that  the  culprit  had  escaped,  set  fire 
to  his  house,  and  with  uncalled-for  cruelty  put  his 
wife  and  servants  to  death.  He  also  proclaimed 
Wallace  an  outlaw,  and  ofi'ered  a  reward  for  any  one 
who  should  bring  him  in,  dead  or  alive.  He  and 
many  of  his  countrymen  were  destined  to  pay  the 
II — i 


130  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

penalty  of  this  cruel  deed  before  Wallace  should  fall 
into  English  hands. 

The  murder  of  his  wife  set  fire  to  the  intense  pa- 
triotism in  Wallace's  soul.  He  determined  to  devote 
his  life  to  acts  of  reprisal  against  the  enemy,  and  if 
possible  to  rescue  his  country  from  English  hands. 
He  soon  had  under  his  command  a  body  of  daring 
partisans,  some  of  them  outlaws  like  himself,  others 
quite  willing  to  become  such  for  the  good  of  Scotland. 
The  hills  and  forests  of  the  country  afforded  them 
numerous  secure  hiding-places,  whence  they  could 
issue  in  raids  upon  the  insolent  foe. 

From  that  time  forward  Wallace  gave  the  Eng- 
lish no  end  of  trouble.  One  of  his  first  expeditions 
was  against  Hazelrigg,  to  whom  he  owed  so  bitter 
a  debt  of  vengeance.  The  cruel  governor  was  killed, 
and  the  murdered  woman  avenged.  Other  expedi- 
tions were  attempted,  and  collisions  with  the  soldiers 
sent  against  him  became  so  ft'equent  and  the  par- 
tisan band  so  successful,  that  Wallace  quickly  grew 
famous,  and  the  number  of  his  followers  rapidly 
increased.  In  time,  from  being  a  band  of  outlaws, 
his  party  grew  to  the  dimensions  of  a  small  army, 
and  in  place  of  contenting  himself  with  local  repri- 
sals on  the  English,  he  cherished  the  design  of 
striking  for  the  independence  of  his  country. 

The  most  notable  adventure  which  followed  this 
increase  of  Wallace's  band  is  one  the  story  of  which 
may  be  in  part  legendary,  but  which  is  significant  of 
the  cruelty  of  warfare  in  those  thirteenth-century 
days.  It  is  remembered  among  the  Scottish  people 
under  the  name  of  the  "  Barns  of  Ayr." 


WALLACE,  THE   HERO   OP  SCOTLAND.  131 

Tho  English  governor  of  Ayr  is  said  to  have  sent  a 
general  invitation  to  the  nobility  and  gentry  of  that 
eection  of  Scotland  to  meet  him  in  friendly  confer- 
ence on  national  affairs.  The  place  fixed  for  the  meet- 
ing was  in  certain  largo  buildings  called  the  barns  of 
Ayr.  The  true  purpose  of  the  governor  was  a  mur- 
derous one.  lie  proposed  to  rid  himself  of  many  of 
those  who  were  giving  him  trouble  by  the  effective 
method  of  the  rope.  Halters  with  running  nooses 
had  been  prepared,  and  hung  upon  the  beams  which 
supported  the  roof.  The  Scotch  visitors  were  ad- 
mitted two  at  a  time,  and  as  they  entered  the  nooses 
were  thrown  over  their  heads,  and  they  drawn  up 
and  hanged.  Among  those  thus  slain  was  Sir  Eegi- 
nald  Crawford,  sheriff  of  the  county  of  Ayr,  and 
uncle  to  William  Wallace. 

This  story  it  is  not  easy  to  believe,  in  tho  exact 
shape  in  which  it  is  given,  since  it  is  unlikely  that  the 
Scottish  nobles  were  such  fools  as  it  presupposes ;  but 
that  it  is  founded  on  some  tragical  fact  is  highly  prob- 
able. The  same  is  the  case  with  the  story  of  AVal- 
lace's  retribution  for  this  crime.  When  the  news  of 
it  came  to  his  ears  he  is  said  to  have  been  greatly 
incensed,  and  to  have  determined  on  an  adequate 
revenge.  He  collected  his  men  in  a  wood  near  Ayr, 
and  sent  out  spies  to  learn  the  state  of  affairs.  The 
English  had  followed  their  crime  with  a  period  of 
carousing,  and,  having  eaten  and  drunk  all  they 
wished,  had  lain  down  to  sleep  in  the  barns  in  which 
the  Scotch  gentry  had  been  murdered.  Not  dream- 
ing that  a  foe  was  so  near,  they  had  set  no  guards, 
and  thus  left  themselves  open  to  the  work  of  revenge 


132  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

This  news  being  brought  to  Wallace,  he  du-ected  a 
woman,  who  was  familiar  with  the  locality,  to  matK 
with  chalk  the  doors  of  the  buildings  where  the  Eng- 
lishmen lay.  Then,  slipping  up  to  ihe  borders  of  Ayr, 
he  sent  a  party  with  ropes,  bidding  them  to  fasten 
securely  all  the  marked  doors.  This  done,  others 
heaped  straw  on  the  outside  of  the  buildings  and  set 
it  on  fire.  The  buildings,  being  constructed  of  wood, 
were  quickly  in  a  flame,  the  EngHsh  waking  from 
their  drunken  slumbers  to  find  themselves  environed 
with  fire. 

Their  fate  was  decided.  Every  entrance  to  the 
buildings  had  been  secured.  Such  as  did  succeed  in 
getting  out  were  driven  back  into  the  flames,  or 
killed  on  the  spot.  The  whole  party  perished  miser- 
ably, not  one  escaping.  In  addition  to  the  English 
thus  disposed  of,  there  were  a  number  lodged  in  a 
convent.  These  were  attacked  by  the  prior  and 
the  monks,  who  had  armed  themselves  with  swords, 
and  fiercely  assailed  their  guests,  few  of  whom  es- 
caped. The  latter  event  is  known  as  "  The  Friar  of 
Ayi-'s  Blessing." 

Such  is  the  story  of  a  crime  and  its  retribution. 
To  say  that  it  is  legendary  is  equivalent  to  saying 
that  it  is  not  true  in  all  its  particulars ;  but  that  it 
is  founded  on  fact  its  common  acceptance  by  the 
people  of  that  country  seems  evidence. 

So  far  the  acts  of  Wallace  and  his  men  had  been 
of  minor  importance.  But  now  his  party  of  followers 
grew  into  an  army,  many  of  the  Scottish  nobles 
joining  him.  Prominent  among  these  was  Sir 
William  Douglas,  the  head  of  the  most  famous  family 


THE  WALLACE  MONUMENT,   STIRLING. 


"WALLACE,  THE   HERO   OF   SCOTLAND.  133 

in  Scottish  history.  Another  was  Sir  John  Grahame, 
who  became  the  chief  friend  and  confidant  of  the 
champion  of  the  rights  of  Scotland. 

This  rebellious  activity  on  the  part  of  the  Scotch 
had  not  been  viewed  with  indifference  by  the  English. 
The  raids  of  Wallace  and  his  band  of  outlaws  they 
had  left  the  local  garrisons  to  deal  with.  But  hero 
was  an  army,  suddenly  sprung  into  existence,  and 
needing  to  be  handled  in  a  different  manner.  An 
English  army,  under  the  command  of  John  de  TVar- 
enne,  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  marched  towards  Wallace's 
camp,  with  the  purpose  of  putting  a  summary  end 
to  this  incipient  effort  at  independence. 

The  approach  of  Warenne  weakened  Wallace's 
army,  since  many  of  the  nobles  deserted  his  ranks, 
under  the  fear  that  he  could  not  withstand  the 
greatly  superior  English  force.  Yet,  in  spite  of 
these  defections,  he  held  his  ground.  He  still  had  a 
considerable  force  under  his  command,  and  took  posi- 
tion near  the  town  of  Stirling,  on  the  north  side  of 
the  river  Force,  whei'e  he  awaited  the  approaching 
English  army.  The  river  was  at  this  jDoiut  crossed 
by  a  long  wooden  bridge. 

The  English  host  reached  the  southern  bank  of 
the  river.  Its  commander,  thinking  that  he  might 
end  the  matter  in  a  peaceful  way,  sent  two  clergy- 
men to  Wallace,  offering  a  pardon  to  him  and  his 
followers  if  they  would  lay  down  their  arms. 

"  Go  back  to  Warenne,"  was  the  reply  of  Wallace, 

"  and  tell  him  we  value  not  the  pardon  of  the  king 

of  England.     We  are  not  here  for  the  purpose  of 

treating  of  peace,   but  of  abiding    battle,  and   re- 

12 


134  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

storing  freedom  to  our  country.  Let  the  English 
come  on ;  we  defy  them  to  their  very  beards  1" 

Despite  the  disparity  in  numbers,  Wallace  had 
some  warrant  for  his  tone  of  confidence.  The  Eng- 
lish could  not  reach  him  except  over  the  long  and 
narrow  bridge,  and  stood  the  chance  of  having  their 
vanguard  destroyed  before  the  remainder  could  come 
to  their  aid. 

Such  proved  to  be  the  case.  The  English,  after 
some  hesitation,  attempted  the  passage  of  the  bridge. 
Wallace  held  off  until  about  half  the  army  had  crossed 
and  the  bridge  was  thickly  crowded  with  others. 
Then  he  charged  upon  them  with  his  whole  force, 
and  with  such  impetuosity  that  they  were  thrown 
into  confusion,  and  soon  put  to  rout,  a  large  number 
being  slain  and  the  remainder  driven  into  the  Forth, 
where  the  greater  part  of  them  were  drowned.  The 
portion  of  the  English  army  which  had  not  crossed 
became  infected  with  the  panic  of  their  fellows,  and 
£ed  in  all  haste,  first  setting  fire  to  the  bridge  to 
prevent  pursuit. 

This  signal  victory  had  the  most  encouraging  in- 
fluence on  the  people  of  Scotland.  The  defeated 
army  fled  in  all  haste  from  the  country,  and  those  of 
the  Scotch  who  had  hitherto  remained  in  doubt  now 
took  arms,  and  assailed  the  castles  still  held  by  the 
English.  Many  of  these  were  taken,  and  numerous 
gallant  deeds  done,  of  which  Wallace  is  credited 
with  his  full  share.  How  much  exaggeration  there 
may  be  in  the  stories  told  it  is  not  easy  to  say,  but 
it  seems  certain  that  the  English  suffered  several 
defeats,  Jost  most  of  the  towns  and  castles  they  had 


WALLACE,  THE   HERO   OP   SCOTLAND.  135 

held,  and  wore  driven  almost  entirely  fron*  the  coun- 
try. AVallacc,  indeed,  led  his  army  into  England, 
and  laid  waste  Cumberland  and  Northumberland, 
where  many  cruelties  were  committed,  the  Scottish 
soldiers  being  irrepressible  in  their  thirst  for  revenge 
on  those  who  had  so  long  oppressed  their  country. 

While  these  events  were  going  on  Edward  I.  was 
in  Flanders.  He  had  deemed  Scotland  thoroughly 
subjugated,  and  learned  with  surprise  and  fury  that 
the  Scotch  had  risen  against  him,  defeated  his  armies, 
set  free  their  country,  and  even  invaded  England. 
He  hurried  back  from  Flanders  in  a  rage,  determined 
to  bring  this  rebelHon  to  a  short  and  decisive  ter- 
mination. 

Collecting  a  large  army,  Edward  invaded  Scotland. 
His  opponent,  meanwhile,  had  been  made  protector, 
or  governor,  of  Scotland,  with  the  title  of  Sh*  Wil- 
liam Wallace.  Yet  he  had  risen  so  rapidly  from  a 
private  station  to  this  great  position  that  there  was 
much  jealousy  of  him  on  the  part  of  the  great  nobles, 
and  their  lack  of  support  of  the  best  soldier  and 
bravest  man  of  their  nation  was  the  main  cause  of 
his  downfall  and  the  subsequent  disasters  to  their 
country. 

Wallace,  despite  their  dufeetion,  had  assembled  a 
considerable  army.  But  it  was  not  so  strong  as  that 
of  Edward,  who  had,  besides,  a  largo  body  of  the 
celebrated  archers  of  England,  each  of  whom  car 
ried,  so  it  was  claimed,  twelve  Scotchmen's  lives  in 
his  girdle, — in  his  twelve  cloth-yard  arrows. 

The  two  armies  mot  at  Falldrk.  Wallace,  before 
the  fighting  began,  addressed   his  men  in  a  pithy 


136  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

sentence :  "  I  have  brought  you  to  the  ring,  let  me 
Bee  how  you  can  dance."  The  battle  opened  with  a 
charge  of  the  English  cavalry  on  the  dense  ranks  of 
the  Scottish  infantry,  who  were  armed  with  long 
spears  which  they  held  so  closely  together  that  their 
liue  seemed  impregnable.  The  English  horsemen 
found  it  so.  They  attempted  again  and  again  to 
break  through  that  "  wood  of  spears,"  as  it  has  been 
called,  but  were  every  time  beaten  oif  with  loss. 
But  the  Scotch  horse  failed  to  support  their  brave 
footmen.  On  the  contrary,  they  fled  from  the  field, 
through  ill-will  or  treachery  of  the  nobles,  as  is 
sujDposed. 

Edward  now  ordered  his  archers  to  advance.  They 
did  so,  and  poured  their  arrows  upon  the  Scottish 
ranks  in  such  close  and  deadly  volleys  that  flesh  and 
blood  could  not  endure  it.  Wallace  had  also  a  body  of 
archers,  from  Ettr^ck  forest,  but  they  were  attacked 
in  their  advance  and  many  of  them  slain.  The  Eng- 
lish cavalry  now  again  charged.  They  met  with  a 
different  reception  from  their  previous  one.  The 
storm  of  arrows  had  thrown  "Wallace's  infantry  into 
confusion,  the  line  was  broken  at  several  points,  and 
the  horsemen  charged  into  their  midst,  cutting  them 
down  in  great  numbers.  Sir  John  Grahame  and 
others  of  their  leaders  were  slain,  and  the  Scotch, 
their  firm  ranks  broken  and  many  of  them  slain,  at 
length  took  to  flight. 

It  was  on  the  22d  of  July,  1298,  that  this  decisive 
battle  took  jDlace.  Its  event  put  an  end,  for  the  time, 
to  the  hopes  of  Scottish  independence.  Opposition 
to  Edward's   army  continued,  and   some   successes 


WALLACE,  THE    HERO   OP    SCOTLAND.  lo7 

were  gained,  but  the  army  of  invasion  was  abun- 
dantly reinforced,  until  in  the  end  Wallace  alone,  at 
the  head  of  a  small  band  of  followers,  remained  in 
arms. 

After  all  others  had  yielded,  he  persistently  re- 
fused to  submit  to  Edward  and  his  armies.  As  he 
had  been  the  first  to  take  arms,  he  was  the  last  to 
keep  the  field,  and  for  some  years  he  continued  to 
maintain  himself  among  the  woods  and  hills  of  the 
Highlands,  holding  his  own  for  more  than  a  year 
after  all  the  other  chiefs  bad  sui-rendered. 

Edward  was  determined  not  to  leave  him  at  liberty. 
He  feared  the  influence  of  this  one  man  more  than  of 
i-M  the  nobles  of  Scotland,  and  pursued  him  unremit- 
tingly, a  great  price  being  offered  for  his  brad.  At 
length  the  gallant  champion  was  captured,  a  Scotch- 
man, Sir  John  Menteith,  earning  obloquy  by  the  act. 
The  story  goes  that  the  capture  was  made  at  Rob- 
royston,  near  Glasgow,  the  fugitive  champion  being 
taken  by  treachery,  the  signal  for  rushing  upon  him 
and  taking  him  unawares  being  for  one  of  the  com- 
pany to  turn  a  loaf,  which  lay  upon  the  table,  with 
its  bottom  side  uppermost.  In  after-days  it  waa 
considered  very  ill-breeding  for  any  one  to  turn  a 
loaf  in  this  manner,  if  a  pei'son  named  Menteith 
were  at  table, 

However  this  be,  it  is  certain  that  Wallace  waa 
taken  and  delivered  to  his  great  enemy,  and  no  less 
certain  that  he  was  treated  with  barbarous  harsh- 
ness. He  was  placed  on  trial  at  Westminster  Hall, 
on  the  charge  of  being  a  traitor  to  the  English  crown, 
and  Edward,  to  insult  him,  had  him  crowned  with  a 
12* 


138  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

green  garland,  as  one  who  had  been  king  of  outlaws 
and  robbers  in  the  Scottish  woods. 

"  I  could  not  be  a  traitor  to  Edward,  for  I  was 
never  his  subject,"  was  the  chieftain's  answer  to  the 
charge  against  him. 

He  was  then  accused  of  taking  many  towns  and 
castles,  killing  many  men,  and  doing  much  violence. 

"  It  is  true  I  have  killed  many  Englishmen,"  re 
plied  Wallace,  "  but  it  was  because  they  came  to 
oppress  my  native  country.  Far  from  repenting  of 
this,  I  am  only  sorry  not  to  have  put  to  death  many 
more  of  them." 

Wallace's  defence  was  a  sound  one,  but  Edward 
had  prejudged  him.  He  was  condemned  and  exe- 
cuted, his  body  being  quartered,  in  the  cruel  fashion 
of  that  time,  and  the  parts  exposed  on  spikes  on 
London  bridge,  as  the  limbs  of  a  traitor.  Thus  died 
a  hero,  at  the  command  of  a  tvrant 


BRUCE  AT  BANNOCKBURN. 

To  Edward  the  Second,  lying  in  luxurious  idleness 
in  his  palace  of  pleasure  at  London,  came  the  start- 
ling word  that  he  must  strike  a  blow  or  lose  a  kingdom. 
Scotland  was  slipping  from  his  weak  grasp.  Of  that 
great  realm,  won  by  the  iron  hand  of  his  father,  only- 
one  stronghold  was  left  to  England, — Stirling  Castle, 
and  that  was  fiercely  besieged  by  Eobert  Bruce  and 
his  patriot  army. 

The  tidings  tliat  came  to  Edward  were  these.  Sir 
Philip  Mowbray,  governor  of  Stirling,  hotly  pressed 
by  the  Bruce,  and  seeing  no  hope  of  succor,  had 
agreed  to  deliver  the  town  and  castle  to  the  Scotch, 
unless  relief  reached  him  before  midsummer,  Bruce 
stopped  not  the  messengers.  He  let  them  speed  to 
London  with  the  tidings,  willing,  doubtless,  in  his 
bold  heart,  to  try  it  once  for  all  with  the  English 
king,  and  win  all  or  lose  all  at  a  blow. 

The  news  stirred  feebly  the  weak  heart  of  Edward, 
— lapped  in  delights,  and  heedless  of  kingdoms.  It 
stirred  strongly  the  vigorous  hearts  of  the  English 
nobility,  men  who  had  marched  to  victory  under  the 
banners  of  the  iron  Edward,  and  who  burned  with 
impatience  at  the  inglorious  ease  of  his  silken  son. 
The  great  deeds  of  Edward  I.  should   not   go  for 

139 


140  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

naught,  they  declared.  He  had  won  Scotland;  his 
sou  should  not  lose  it.  The  rebel  Bruce  had  been 
left  alone  until  he  had  gathered  an  ai-my  and  nearly 
made  Scotland  his  own.  Only  Stirling  remained ;  it 
would  be  to  the  endless  disgrace  of  England  should 
it  be  abandoned,  and  the  gallant  Mowbray  left  with- 
out Buj)port.  An  army  must  be  gathered,  l^ruce 
must  be  beaten,  Scotland  must  be  won. 

Like  the  cry  of  a  pack  of  sleuth-hounds  in  the  car 
of  the  timid  deer  came  these  stern  demands  to  Ed- 
ward the  king.  He  dared  not  disregard  them.  It 
might  be  as  much  as  his  crown  were  worth.  England 
meant  business,  and  its  king  must  take  the  lead  or 
he  might  be  asked  to  yield  the  throne.  Stirred  alike 
by  pride  and  fear,  he  roused  from  his  lethargy,  gave 
orders  that  an  army  should  be  gathered,  and  vowed 
to  drive  the  beleaguering  Scots  from  before  Stirling's 
walls. 

From  every  side  they  came,  the  marching  troops. 
England,  hot  with  revengeful  blood,  mustered  its 
quota  in  haste.  "Wales  and  Ireland,  new  appendages 
of  the  English  throne,  supplied  their  share.  From 
the  French  provinces  of  the  kingdom  hosts  of  eager 
men-at-arms  flocked  across  the  Channel.  All  the 
great  nobles  and  the  barons  of  the  realm  led  their 
followers,  equipped  for  war,  to  the  mustering-place, 
until  a  force  of  one  hundred  thousand  men  was  ready 
for  the  field,  perhaps  the  largest  array  which  had 
ever  marched  under  an  English  king.  In  this  great 
array  were  thirty  thousand  horsemen.  It  looked  as 
if  Scotland  were  doomed.  Surely  that  sterile  land 
could  raise  no  force  to  face  this  great  array  I 


BRTTCE  AT   BANiVOCKBURN.  141 

King  Robert  the  Bruce  did  his  utmost  to  prepare 
for  the  storm  of  war  which  thi'cateiied  tobreaic  upon 
his  realm.  In  all  hasto  he  summoned  his  barons  and 
nobles  from  far  and  near.  From  the  Hii^hlands  and 
the  Lowlands  they  came,  from  island  and  mainland 
flocked  the  kilted  and  tartaned  Scotch,  but,  when  all 
were  gathered,  they  numbered  not  a  third  the  host 
of  their  foes,  and  were  much  more  poorly  armed. 
But  at  their  head  was  the  most  expert  military  chief 
of  that  day,  since  the  death  of  Edward  I.  the  great- 
est warrior  that  Europe  knew.  Once  again  was  it 
to  be  proved  that  the  general  is  the  bouI  of  his  army, 
and  that  skill  and  courage  are  a  full  offset  for  lack  of 
numbers. 

Towards  Stirling  marched  the  great  English  array, 
confident  in  their  numbers,  proud  of  their  gallant 
show.  Northward  they  streamed,  filling  all  the 
roads,  the  king  at  their  head,  deeming  doubtless  that 
he  was  on  a  holiday  excursion,  and  that  behind  him 
came  a  wind  of  war  that  would  blow  the  Scotch 
forces  into  the  sea.  Around  Stirling  gathered  the 
army  of  the  Bruce,  marching  in  haste  from  hill  and 
dale,  coming  in  to  the  stiiTing  peal  of  the  pipes  and 
the  old  martial  airs  of  the  land,  until  the  plain  around 
the  beleaguered  town  seemed  a  living  sea  of  men,  and 
the  sunlight  burned  on  endless  points  of  steel. 

But  Bruce  had  no  thought  of  awaiting  the  onset 
here.  He  well  knew  that  he  must  supply  by  skill 
what  he  lacked  in  numbers.  The  English  army  was 
far  superior  to  his,  not  only  in  men,  but  in  its  great 
host  of  cavalry,  which  alone  equalled  his  entire  force, 
and  in   its  multitude  of  archers,  the  best  bowmen 


142  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

in  the  world.  What  he  lacked  in  men  and  arms  he 
must  make  up  in  brains.  With  this  in  view,  he  led 
his  army  from  before  the  town  into  a  neighboring 
plain,  called  the  Park,  where  nature  had  provided 
means  of  defence  of  which  he  might  avail  himself. 

The  ground  which  his  army  here  occupied  was 
hard  and  dry.  That  in  front  of  it,  through  which 
Edward's  host  must  pass,  was  wet  and  boggy,  cut  up 
with  frequent  watercourses,  and  ill-fitted  for  cavalry. 
Should  the  heavy  armed  horsemen  succeed  in  crossing 
this  marshy  and  broken  ground  and  reach  the  firm 
soil  in  the  Scottish  front,  they  would  find  themselves 
in  a  worse  strait  still.  For  Eruce  had  his  men  dig 
a  great  number  of  holes  as  deep  as  a  man's  knee. 
These  were  covered  with  light  brush,  and  the  turf 
spread  evenly  over  them,  so  that  the  honeycombed 
soil  looked  to  the  eye  like  an  unbroken  field.  Else- 
where on  the  plain  he  scattered  calthrops — steel 
spikes — to  lame  the  English  horses.  Smooth  and 
promising  looked  the  field,  but  the  English  cavalry 
were  likely  to  find  it  a  plain  of  pitfalls  and  steel 
points. 

While  thus  defending  his  front,  Bruce  had  given 
as  skilful  heed  to  the  defence  of  his  flanks.  On  the 
left  his  line  reached  to  the  walls  of  Stirling.  On  the 
right  it  touched  the  banks  of  Bannockburn,  a  brook 
that  ran  between  borders  so  rocky  as  to  prevent 
attack  from  that  quarter.  Here,  on  the  23d  of  June, 
1314,  was  posted  the  Scottish  army,  awaiting  the 
coming  of  the  foe,  the  camp-followers,  cart- drivers, 
and  other  useless  material  of  the  army  being  sent 
back  behind  a  hill, — afterwards  known  as  the  gillies' 


BRUCE   AT   BANNOCKBURN.  143 

or  servants'  bill,— that  they  miii;ht  be  out  of  the  way. 
They  were  to  play  a  part  in  the  coming  fray  of  wliich 
Bruco  did  not  dream. 

Thus  prepared,  Bruce  reviewed  his  force,  and  ad- 
dressed them  in  stirring  words.  The  battle  would 
be  victory  or  death  to  him,  he  said.  He  hoped  it 
would  be  to  all.  If  any  among  them  did  not  propose 
to  fight  to  the  bitter  end  and  take  victory  or  death, 
as  God  should  decree,  for  his  lot,  now  was  the  time 
to  withdraw ;  all  such  might  leave  the  field  before 
the  battle  began.     Not  a  man  left. 

Fearing  that  the  English  might  try  to  throw  a 
force  into  Stirling  Castle,  the  king  posted  his  nephew 
Randolph  with  a  body  of  men  near  St.  Ninian's 
church.  Lord  Dotiglas  and  Sir  Eobert  Keith  were 
sent  to  survey  and  report  upon  the  English  force, 
which  was  marching  from  Falkirk.  They  returned 
with  tidings  to  make  any  but  stout  hearts  quiver. 
Such  an  army  as  was  coming  they  had  never  seen 
before ;  it  was  a  beautiful  but  a  terrible  sight,  the 
approach  of  that  mighty  host.  The  whole  country, 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  was  crowded  with  men 
on  hoi'se  or  on  foot.  Never  had  they  beheld  such  a 
grand  display  of  standards,  banners,  and  pennons. 
So  gallant  and  fearful  a  show  was  it  all,  that  the 
bravest  host  in  Christendom  might  well  tremble 
to  see  King  Edward's  army  marching  upon  them. 
Such  was  the  story  told  by  Douglas,  though  his  was 
not  the  heart  to  tremble  in  the  telling. 

Bruce  was  soon  to  see  this  great  array  of  horse 
and  foot  for  himself.  On  they  came,  filling  the  coun- 
try far  and  near  with  their  numbers.     But  before 


Ii4  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

they  had  come  in  view,  another  sight  met  the  vigi 
lant  eyes  of  the  Scottish  king.  To  the  eastward  there 
became  visible  a  body  of  English  horse,  riding  at 
Bpeed,  and  seeking  to  reach  Stirling  from  that  quarter. 
Bruce  turned  to  his  nephew,  who  stood  beside  him. 

"See,  Eandolph,"  he  said,  "there  is  a  rose  fallen 
fi'om  your  chaplet." 

The  English  had  passed  the  post  which  Eandolph 
had  been  set  to  guard.  He  heard  the  rebuke  in 
silence,  rode  hastily  to  the  head  of  his  men,  and 
rushed  against  the  eight  hundred  English  horse  with 
half  that  number  of  footmen.  The  English  turned 
to  charge  this  daring  force.  Eandolph  drew  up  his 
men  in  close  order  to  receive  them.  It  looked  as 
if  the  Scotch  would  be  overwhelmed,  and  trampled 
under  foot  by  the  powerful  foe. 

"  Eandolph  is  lost !"  cried  Douglas.  "  He  must 
have  help.     Let  me  go  to  his  aid." 

"  Let  Eandolph  redeem  his  own  fault,"  answered 
the  king,  firmly.  "  I  cannot  break  the  order  of  battle 
for  his  sake." 

Douglas  looked  on,  fuming  with  impatience.  The 
danger  seemed  more  imminent.  The  small  body  of 
Scotch  foot  almost  vanished  from  sight  in  the  cloud 
of  English  horsemen.  The  glittering  lances  appeared 
about  to  annihilate  them. 

"  So  please  you,"  said  Douglas,  "  my  heart  will  not 
suffer  me  to  stand  idle  and  see  Eandolph  perish.  I 
must  go  to  his  assistance." 

The  king  made  no  answer.  Douglas  spurred  to 
the  head  of  his  troop,  and  rode  off  at  speed.  He 
neared  the  scene  of  conflict.     Suddenly  a  change 


BRUCE   AT   BANNOCKBURN.  145 

came.  The  horsemen  appeared  confused.  Panic 
seemed  to  have  etricken  their  ranks.  In  a  moment 
away  they  went,  in  full  flight,  many  of  the  horses 
■with  empty  saddles,  while  the  gallant  group  of  Scotch 
stood  unmoved. 

"  Halt !"  cried  Douglas.  "  Randolph  has  gained 
the  day.  Since  we  are  not  soon  enough  to  help  him 
in  the  battle,  do  not  let  us  lessen  his  glory  by  ap- 
proaching the  field."  And  the  noble  knight  pulled 
rein  and  galloped  back,  unwilling  to  rob  Eandolph 
of  any  of  the  honor  of  his  deed. 

The  English  vanguard  was  now  in  sight.  From  it 
rode  out  a  number  of  knights,  eager  to  see  the  Scotch 
array  more  nearly.  King  Eobert  did  the  same.  He 
was  in  armor,  but  was  poorly  mounted,  riding  only 
a  little  pony,  with  which  he  moved  up  and  down  the 
front  of  his  army,  putting  his  men  in  order.  A 
golden  crown  worn  over  his  helmet  was  his  sole 
mark  of  distinction.  The  only  weapon  he  carried 
was  a  steel  battle-axe.  As  the  English  knights  came 
nearer,  he  advanced  a  little  to  have  a  closer  look  at 
them. 

Here  seemed  an  opportunity  for  a  quick  and  de- 
cisive blow.  The  Scottish  king  was  at  some  distance 
in  front  of  his  men,  his  rank  indicated  by  his  crown, 
his  horse  a  poor  one,  his  hand  empty  of  a  spear.  He 
might  be  ridden  down  by  a  sudden  onset,  victory  to 
the  English  host  be  gained  by  a  single  blow,  and 
great  glory  come  to  tne  bold  knight  that  dealt  it. 

So  thought  one  of  the  English  knights.  Sir  Henry 
■do  Bohun  by  name.  Putting  spurs  to  his  power- 
ful war-horse,  he  galloped  furiously  upon  the  king, 
II.— <j        k  13 


146  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

thinking  to  bear  him  easily  to  the  ground.  Bruce 
Baw  him  coming,  but  made  no  movement  of  flight. 
He  sat  his  pony  warily,  waiting  the  onset,  until  Eohun 
was  nearly  upon  him  with  his  spear.  Then  a  quick 
touch  to  the  rein,  a  sudden  movement  of  the  horse, 
and  the  lance-point  sped  past,  missing  its  mark. 

The  Scotch  army  stood  in  breathless  alarm ;  the 
English  host  in  equally  breathless  expectation ;  it 
seemed  for  the  moment  as  if  Eobert  the  Bruce  were 
lost.  But  as  De  Bohun  passed  him,  borne  onward 
by  the  career  of  his  steed,  King  Eobert  rose  in  hia 
stirrups,  swung  his  battle-axe  in  the  air,  and  brought 
it  down  on  his  adversary's  head  with  so  terrible  a 
blow  that  the  iron  helmet  cracked  as  though  it  were 
a  nutshell,  and  the  knight  fell  from  his  horse,  dead 
before  he  reached  the  ground. 

King  Eobert  turned  and  rode  back,  where  he  was 
met  by  a  storm  of  reproaches  from  his  nobles,  who 
declared  that  he  had  done  grave  wrong  in  exposing 
himself  to  such  danger,  when  the  safety  of  the  army 
depended  on  him.  The  king  heard  their  reproaches 
in  silence,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  fractured  edge  of  his 
weapon. 

"  I  have  broken  my  good  battle-axe,"  was  his  only 
reply. 

This  incident  ended  the  day.  Night  was  at  hand. 
Both  armies  rested  on  the  field.  But  at  an  early 
hour  of  the  next  day,  the  24th  of  June,  the  battle 
began,  one  of  the  critical  battles  of  history. 

Through  the  Scottish  ranks  walked  barefooted  the 
abbot  of  Inchalfray,  exhorting  the  men  to  fight  their 
best  for  freedom.     The  soldiers  kneeled  as  he  passed. 


BRUCE   AT   BANNOCKBURN.  147 

"  They  kneel  down !"  cried  King  Edward,  who 
saw  this.     "  They  are  asking  forgiveness !" 

"Yes,"  said  a  baron  beside  him,  "but  they  ask  it 
from  God,  not  from  us.  These  men  will  conquer,  or 
die  upon  the  field." 

The  battle  began  with  a  flight  of  English  arrows. 
The  archers,  drawn  up  in  close  ranks,  bent  their  bows, 
and  poured  their  steel  shafts  as  thiclvly  as  snow-flakea 
on  the  Scotch,  many  of  whom  were  slain.  Some- 
thing must  be  done,  and  that  speedily,  or  those 
notable  bowmen  would  end  the  battle  of  themselves. 
Flesh  and  blood  could  not  long  bear  that  rain  of 
cloth-yard  shafts,  with  their  points  of  piercing  steel. 

But  Bruce  had  prepared  for  this  danger.  A  body 
of  well-mounted  men-at-arms  stood  read}',  and  at  the 
word  of  command  rushed  at  full  gallop  upon  the 
archers,  cutting  them  down  to  right  and  left.  Having 
no  weapons  but  their  bows  and  arrows,  the  archers 
broke  and  fled  in  utter  confusion,  hundreds  of  them 
being  slain. 

This  charge  of  the  Scotch  cavalry  was  followed 
by  an  advance  in  force  of  the  English  horsemen, 
who  came  forward  in  such  close  and  serried  ranks 
and  with  so  vast  an  array  that  it  looked  as  if  they 
would  overwhelm  the  narrow  lines  before  them. 
But  suddenly  trouble  came  upon  this  mighty  mass 
of  knights  and  men-at-arms.  The  seemingl}'  solid 
earth  gave  way  under  their  horses'  feet,  and  down 
they  went  into  the  hidden  pits,  the  horses  hurled 
headlong,  the  riders  flung  helplessly  upon  the  ground, 
from  which  the  Aveight  of  their  armor  prevented  their 
risinff. 


148  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

In  an  instant  the  Scotch  footmen  were  among  them, 
killing  the  defenceless  knights,  cutting  and  slashing 
among  the  confused  mass  of  horsemen,  breaking 
their  fine  display  into  irretrievable  disorder.  Bruce 
brought  up  his  men  in  crowding  multitudes.  Through 
the  English  ranks  they  glided,  stabbing  horses,  slay- 
ing their  iron-clad  riders,  doubly  increasing  the  con- 
fusion of  that  wild  whirl  of  horsemen,  whose  trim 
and  gallant  ranks  had  been  thrown  into  utter  dis- 
array. 

The  English  fought  as  they  could,  though  at  serioua 
disadvantage.  But  their  numbers  were  so  great  that 
they  might  have  crushed  the  Scotch  under  their 
mere  weight  but  for  one  of  those  strange  chances  on 
which  the  fate  of  so  many  battles  have  depended. 
As  has  been  said,  the  Scottish  camp-followers  had 
been  sent  back  behind  a  hill.  But  on  seeing  that 
their  side  seemed  Hkely  to  win  the  day,  this  rabble 
came  suddenly  crowding  over  the  hill,  eager  for  a 
share  in  the  spoil. 

It  was  a  disorderly  mob,  but  to  the  sorely-pressed 
English  cavalry  it  seemed  a  new  army  which  the 
Bruce  had  held  in  reserve.  Suddenly  stricken  with 
panic,  the  horsemen  turned  and  fled,  each  man  for 
himself,  as  fast  as  their  horses  could  carry  them,  the 
whole  army  breaking  rank  and  rushing  back  in  ter- 
ror over  the  ground  which  they  had  lately  traversed 
in  such  splendor  of  appearance  and  confidence  of  soul. 

After  them  came  the  Scotch,  cutting,  slashing, 
killing,  paving  the  earth  with  English  slain.  King 
Edward  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  fled  in  all  haste 
from  the  fatal  field.     A  gallant  knight,  Sir  Giles  de 


BRUCE   AT   BANNOCKBURN.  149 

Argentine,  who  had  won  glory  in  Palestine,  kept  by 
him  till  ho  was  out  of  the  press.  Then  he  drew 
rein. 

"  It  is  not  my  custom  to  fly,"  he  said. 

Turning  his  horse  and  shouting  his  war-cry  of 
"  Argentine  !  Argentine !"  he  rushed  into  the  densest 
ranks  of  the  Scotch,  and  was  quickly  killed. 

Many  others  of  high  rank  fell,  valiantly  fighting, 
men  who  knew  not  the  meaning  of  flight.  But  the 
bulk  of  the  army  was  in  hopeless  pan.  c,  flying  for 
life,  red  lines  constantly  falling  before  the  crimsoned 
claymores  of  the  Scotch,  until  the  very  streams  ran 
red  with  blood. 

King  Edward  found  war  less  than  ever  to  his  royal 
taste.  He  fled  to  Stirling  Castle  and  begged  admit- 
tance. 

"  I  cannot  grant  it,  my  liege,"  answered  Mowbray. 
"My  compact  with  the  Bruce  obliges  me  to  sur- 
render the  castle  to-morrow.  If  you  enter  here  it 
will  be  to  become  prisoner  to  the  Scotch." 

Edward  turned  and  continued  his  flight,  his  route 
lying  through  the  Torwood.  After  him  came  Lord 
Douglas,  with  a  body  of  cavalry,  pressing  forward 
in  hot  haste.  On  his  way  he  met  a  Scotch  knight, 
Sir  Lawrence  Abernethy,  with  twenty  horsemen, 
riding  to  join  Edward's  army. 

"  Edward's  army  1  He  has  no  army,"  cried  Doug- 
las. *'  The  army  is  a  rout.  Edward  himself  is  in 
flight.     I  am  hot  on  his  track." 

"  I  am  with  you,  then,"  cried  Abernethy,  changing 
sides  on  the  instant,  and  joining  in  pursuit  of  tna 
king  whom  he  had  just  before  been  eager  to  servo. 
13* 


150  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

A^ay  went  the  frightened  king.  On  came  the 
furious  pursuers.  Not  a  moment  was  given  Edward 
to  draw  rein  or  alight.  The  chase  was  continued  as 
far  as  Dunbar,  whose  governor,  the  earl  of  March, 
opened  his  gates  to  the  flying  king,  and  shut  them 
against  his  foes.  Giving  the  forlorn  monarch  a  small 
fishing-vessel,  he  set  him  on  the  seas  for  England, 
a  few  distressed  attendants  alone  remaining  to  him 
of  the  splendid  army  with  which  he  had  marched  to 
the  conquest  of  Scotland. 

Thus  ended  the  battle  which  wrested  Scotland 
from  English  hands,  and  made  Eobert  Bruce  king 
of  the  whole  country.  From  the  state  of  an  exile, 
hunted  with  hounds,  he  had  made  himself  a  monarch, 
and  one  who  soon  gave  the  English  no  little  trouble 
to  protect  their  own  borders. 


THE  SIEGE  OF  CALAIS, 

Terrible  and  long-enduring  had  been  the  siege 
of  Calais.  For  a  whole  year  it  had  continued,  and 
still  the  sturdy  citizens  held  the  town.  Outside  was 
Ed\^ aid  III.,  with  his  English  host,  raging  at  the 
obstinacy  of  the  French  and  at  his  own  losses  during 
the  siege.  Inside  was  John  de  Vieune,  the  unyield- 
ing governor,  and  his  brave  garrison.  Outside  was 
plenty;  inside  was  famine;  between  were  impreg- 
nable walls,  which  all  the  engines  of  Edward  failed 
to  reduce  or  surmount.  No  resource  was  left  the 
English  king  but  time  and  famine;  none  was  left 
the  garrison  but  the  hope  of  wearying  their  foes  or 
of  relief  by  their  king.  The  chief  foe  they  fought 
against  was  starvation,  an  enemy  against  whom  war- 
like arms  were  of  no  avail,  whom  only  stout  hearts 
and  inflexible  endurance  could  meet ;  and  bravely 
they  faced  this  frightful  foe,  those  stout  citizens  of 
Calais. 

An  excellent  harbor  had  Calais.  It  had  long  been 
the  sheltering-place  for  the  pirates  that  preyed  on 
English  commerce.  But  now  no  ship  could  leave  or 
enter.  The  English  fleet  closed  the  passage  by  sea ; 
the  English  army  blocked  all  approach  by  land ;  the 
French  king,  whose  great  army  had  just  been  mer- 

161 


152  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

cilessly  slaughtered  at  Crecy,  held  aloof;  nothing 
seemed  to  remain  for  Calais  but  death  or  surrender, 
and  yet  the  valiant  governor  held  out  againbt  his 
foes. 

As  the  days  went  on  and  no  relief  came  he  made 
a  census  of  the  town,  selected  seventeen  hundred 
poor  and  unsold! erly  folks,  "  useless  mouths,"  as  he 
called  them,  and  drove  them  outside  the  walls. 
Happily  for  them,  King  Edward  was  just  then  in  a 
good  humor.  He  gave  the  starving  outcasts  a  good 
dinner  and  twopence  in  money  each,  and  passed 
them  through  his  ranks  to  make  their  way  whither 
they  would. 

More  days  passed ;  food  grew  scarcer ;  there  were 
more  "  useless  mouths"  in  the  town  ;  John  de  Yienne 
decided  to  try  this  experiment  again.  Five  hundred 
more  were  thrust  from  the  gates.  This  time  King 
Edward  was  not  in  a  good  humor.  He  bade  his  sol- 
diers drive  them  back  at  sword's-point.  The  gov- 
ernor refused  to  admit  them  into  the  town.  The 
whole  miserable  multitude  died  of  starvation  in  sight 
of  both  camps.  Such  were  the  amenities  of  war  in 
the  Middle  Ages.  Mercy  was  then  the  rarest  of  the 
virtues. 

A  letter  was  now  sent  to  the  French  king,  Philip 
de  Yalois,  imploring  succor.  They  had  eaten,  said 
the  governor,  their  horses,  their  dogs,  even  the  rata 
and  mice ;  nothing  remained  but  to  eat  each  other. 
Unluckily,  the  English,  not  the  French,  king  re- 
ceived this  letter,  and  the  English  host  grew  more 
watchful  than  ever.  But  Philip  de  Valois  needed  not 
letters  to  tell  him  of  the  extremity  of  the  garrison ; 


THE   SIEGE   OP   CALAIS.  153 

he  knew  it  well,  and  knew  as  well  that  haste  alone 
could  save  him  one  of  his  fairest  towns. 

But  he  had  suffered  a  frightful  defeat  at  Crecy 
only  five  days  before  the  siege  of  Calais  began. 
Twelve  hundred  of  his  knights  and  thirty  thousand 
of  his  foot-soldiers — a  number  equal  to  the  whole 
English  force — bad  been  slain  on  the  field;  thou- 
sands of  others  had  been  taken  prisoner;  a  new 
army  was  not  easily  to  be  raised.  Months  passed 
before  Philip  was  able  to  come  to  the  relief  of  the 
beleaguered  stronghold.  The  Oriflamme,  the  sacred 
banner  of  the  realm,  never  displayed  but  in  times 
of  dire  extremity,  was  at  length  unfurled  to  the 
winds,  and  from  every  side  the  great  vassals  of  the 
kingdom  hastened  to  its  support.  France,  ever  pro- 
lific of  men,  poured  forth  her  sons  until  she  had 
another  large  army  in  the  field.  In  July  of  13-47, 
eleven  months  after  the  siege  began,  the  garrison, 
weary  with  long  waiting,  saw  afar  from  their  look- 
out towers  the  floating  banners  of  France,  and 
beneath  them  the  faintly-seen  forms  of  a  mighty 
host. 

The  glad  news  spread  through  the  town.  The 
king  was  coming  with  a  great  army  at  his  back! 
their  sufferings  had  not  been  in  vain  ;  they  would 
soon  be  relieved,  and  those  obstinate  English  bo 
driven  into  the  sea!  Had  a  fleet  of  bread-ships 
broken  through  the  blockade,  and  sailed  with  waving 
pennons  into  the  harbor,  the  souls  of  the  garrison 
could  not  have  been  more  uplifted  with  joy. 

Alas!  it  was  a  short-lived  joy.  Net  many  days 
elapsed  before  that  great  h-ost  faded   before  their 


154  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

eyes  like  a  mist  under  the  sun-rays,  its  banners 
lifting  and  falling  as  they  slowly  vanished  into  the 
distance,  the  gleam  of  its  many  steel-headed  weapons 
dying  out  until  not  a  point  of  light  remained.  Their 
gladness  turned  into  redoubled  misery  as  they  saw 
themselves  thus  left  to  their  fate ;  their  king,  who 
had  marched  up  with  such  a  gallant  show  of  banners 
and  arms,  marching  away  without  striking  a  blow. 
It  was  hard  to  believe  it ;  but  there  they  went,  and 
there  the  English  lay. 

The  soil  of  France  had  never  seen  anything  quite 
80  ludicrous — but  for  its  tragic  side — as  this  march 
of  Philip  the  king.  Two  roads  led  to  the  town,  but 
these  King  Edward,  who  was  well  advised  of  what 
was  coming,  had  taken  care  to  intrench  and  guard 
BO  sti'ongly  that  it  would  prove  no  light  nor  safe 
matter  to  force  a  way  through.  Philip  sent  out  his 
spies,  learned  what  was  before  him,  and,  full  of  the 
memory  of  Crecy,  decided  that  it  would  be  too 
costly  an  experiment  to  attack  those  works.  But 
were  not  these  the  days  of  chivalry?  was  not 
Edward  famed  for  his  chivalrous  spirit  ?  Surely  he, 
as  a  noble  and  puissant  knight,  would  not  take  an 
unfair  advantage  of  his  adversary.  As  a  knight  of 
renown  he  could  not  refuse  to  march  into  the  open 
field,  and  trust  to  God  and  St.  George  of  England 
for  his  defence,  as  against  God  and  St.  Denys  of 
France. 

Philip,  thereupon,  sent  four  of  his  principal  lords 
to  the  English  king,  saying  that  he  was  there  to  do 
battle,  as  knight  against  knight,  but  could  find  no 
way  to  come  to  him.    He  requested,  therefore,  that  a 


THE   SIEGE   OP   CALAIS.  155 

council  should  meet  to  fix  upon  a  place  of  battle, 
where  the  difference  between  him  and  his  cousin  of 
England  might  be  fairly  decided. 

Surely  such  a  request  had  never  before  been  made 
to  an  opposing  general.  Doubtless  King  Edward 
laughed  in  his  beard  at  the  naive  proposal,  even  if 
courtesy  kept  him  from  laughing  in  the  envoys' 
faces.  As  regards  his  answer,  we  cannot  quote  its 
words,  but  its  nature  may  be  gathered  from  the  fact 
that  Philip  soon  after  broke  camp,  and  marched  back 
over  the  road  by  which  he  had  come,  saying  to  him- 
self, no  doubt,  that  the  English  king  lacked  knightly 
honor,  or  he  would  not  take  so  unfair  an  advantage 
of  a  foe.  And  thus  ended  this  strange  episode  in 
war,  Philip  marching  away  with  all  the  bravery  of 
his  host,  Edward  grimly  turning  again  to  the  town 
which  he  held  in  his  iron  grasp. 

The  story  of  the  siege  of  Calais  concludes  in  a 
highly  dramatic  fashion.  It  was  a  play  presented 
upon  a  great  stage,  but  with  true  dramatic  acces- 
sories of  scenery  and  incident.  These  have  been 
picturesquely  preserved  by  the  old  chroniclers, 
and  are  well  worthy  of  being  again  presented. 
Eroissart  has  told  the  tale  in  his  own  inimitable 
fashion.  We  follow  others  in  telling  it  in  more 
modern  phrase. 

When  the  people  of  Calais  saw  that  they  were  de- 
serted by  their  king,  hope  suddenly  fled  from  their 
hearts.  Longer  defence  meant  but  deeper  misery. 
Nothing  remained  but  surrender.  Stout-hearted  John 
de  Yienne,  their  commander,  seeing  that  all  was  at 
an  end,  mounted  the  walls  with  a  flag  of  truce,  and 


156  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

made  signs  that  lie  wished  to  speak  with  some  person 
of  the  besieging  host.  Word  of  this  was  brought  to 
the  English  king,  and  he  at  once  sent  Sir  Walter  de 
Manny  and  Sir  Basset  as  his  envoys  to  confer  with 
the  bearer  of  the  flag.  The  governor  looked  down 
upon  them  from  the  walls  with  sadness  in  his  eyes 
and  the  lines  of  starvation  on  his  face. 

"  Sirs,"  he  said,  "  vahant  knights  you  are,  as  I  well 
know.  As  for  me,  I  have  obeyed  the  command  of 
the  king,  my  master,  by  doing  all  that  lay  in  my 
power  to  hold  for  him  this  town.  Now  succor  haa 
failed  us,  and  food  we  have  none.  We  must  all  die 
of  famine  unless  your  noble  and  gentle  king  will 
have  mercy  on  us,  and  let  us  go  free,  in  exchange  for 
the  town  and  all  the  goods  it  contains,  of  which  there 
is  great  abundance." 

"We  know  something  of  the  intention  of  our 
master,"  answered  Sir  Walter.  "He  will  certainly 
not  let  you  go  free,  but  will  require  you  to  surrender 
without  conditions,  some  of  you  to  be  held  to  ransom, 
others  to  be  put  to  death.  Your  people  have  put 
him  to  such  despite  by  their  bitter  obstinacy,  and 
caused  him  such  loss  of  treasure  and  men,  that  he  is 
sorely  grieved  against  them." 

"  You  make  it  too  hard  for  us,"  answered  the  gov- 
ernor. "We  are  here  a  small  company  of  knights 
and  squires,  who  have  served  our  king  to  our  own 
pain  and  misery,  as  you  would  serve  yours  in  like 
case;  but  rather  than  let  the  least  lad  in  the  town 
suffer  more  than  the  greatest  of  us,  we  will  endure 
the  last  extremity  of  pain.  We  beg  of  you  to  plead 
for  us  with  your  king  for  pity,  and  trust  that,  by 


THE   SIEGE   OF   CALAIS.  157 

God's  grace',  his  purpose  m  ill  change,  and  his  gentle* 
ncss  yield  us  pardon." 

The  envoys,  much  moved  by  the  wasted  face  and 
earnest  appeal  of  the  governor,  returned  with  his 
message  to  the  king,  whom  they  found  in  an  unre- 
lenting mood.  He  answered  them  that  he  would 
make  no  other  terms.  The  garrison  must  yield  them- 
selves to  his  pleasui'e.  Sir  AYalter  answered  with 
words  as  wise  as  they  were  bold, — 

"  I  beg  you  to  consider  this  more  fully,"  he  said, 
"  for  you  may  be  in  the  wrong,  and  make  a  danger- 
ous example  from  which  some  of  us  may  yet  suffer. 
We  shall  certainly  not  very  gladly  go  into  any  for- 
tress of  yours  for  defence,  if  you  should  put  any  of 
the  people  of  this  town  to  death  after  they  yield ; 
for  in  like  case  the  French  will  certainly  deal  with  us 
in  the  same  fashion." 

Others  of  the  lords  present  sustained  Sir  "Walter  in 
this  opinion,  and  presented  the  case  so  strongly  that 
the  king  yielded. 

"  I  will  not  be  alone  against  you  all,"  he  said,  after 
an  interval  of  reflection.  "This  much  will  I  yield. 
Go,  Sir  Walter,  and  say  to  the  governor  that  all  the 
grace  I  can  give  him  is  this.  Let  him  send  me  six 
of  the  chief  burgesses  of  the  town,  who  shall  come 
out  bareheaded,  barefooted,  and  barelegged,  clad  only 
in  their  shirts,  and  with  halters  around  their  necks, 
with  the  keys  cf  the  tower  and  castle  in  their  hands. 
These  must  yield  themselves  fully  to  my  will.  The 
others  I  will  take  to  mercy." 

Sir  Walter  returned  with  this  message,  saying  that 
no  hope  of  better  terms  could  be  had  of  the  king. 

14 


158  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

'=  Then  I  beg  you  to  wait  here,"  said  Sir  John,  "  till 
I  can  take  your  message  to  the  townsmen,  who  sent 
me  here,  and  bring  j-ou  their  reply." 

Into  the  town  went  the  governor,  where  he  sought 
the  market-place,  and  soon  the  town-bell  was  ringing 
its  mustering  peal.  Quickly  the  people  gathered, 
eager,  says  Jehau  le  Bel,  "  to  hear  their  good  news, 
for  they  were  all  mad  with  hunger."  Sir  John  told 
them  his  message,  saying, — 

"No  other  terms  are  to  be  had,  and  you  must  de- 
cide quickly,  for  our  foes  ask  a  speedy  answer." 

His  words  were  followed  by  weeping  and  much 
lamentation  among  the  people.  Some  of  them  must 
die.  Who  should  it  be  ?  Sir  John  himself  shed 
tears  for  their  extremity.  It  was  not  in  his  heart  to 
name  the  victims  to  the  wrath  of  the  English  king. 

At  length  the  richest  burgess  of  the  town,  Eustace 
de  St.  Pierre,  stepped  forward  and  said,  in  tones  of 
devoted  resolution, — 

"  My  friends  and  fellows,  it  would  be  great  grief 
to  let  you  all  die  by  famine  or  otherwise,  when  there 
is  a  means  given  to  save  you.  Great  grace  would  h^ 
win  from  our  Lord  who  could  keep  this  people  from 
dying.  For  myself,  I  have  trust  in  God  that  if  I 
Bave  this  people  by  my  death  I  shall  have  pardon  for 
my  faults.  Therefore,  I  offer  myself  as  the  first  of 
the  six,  and  am  willing  to  put  myself  at  the  mercy 
of  King  Edward." 

He  was  followed  by  another  rich  burgess,  Jehau 
D'Aire  by  name,  who  said,  "  I  will  keep  company 
with  my  gossip  Eustace." 

Jacques  de  W  '»ant  and  his  brother,  Peter  de  Wi- 


THE   SIEGE   OP   CALAIS.  159 

flant,  both  rich  citizens,  next  offered  themselves,  and 
two  others  quickly  made  up  the  tale.  "Word  was 
taken  to  Sir  Walter  of  what  had  been  done,  and  the 
victims  apparelled  themselves  as  the  king  had  com- 
manded. 

It  was  a  sad  procession  that  made  its  way  to  the 
gate  of  the  town.  Sir  John  led  the  way,  the  devoted 
six  followed,  while  the  remainder  of  the  towns-people 
made  their  progress  woful  with  tears  and  cries  of 
grief.  Months  of  suffering  had  not  caused  them 
deeper  sorrow  than  to  see  these  their  brave  hostages 
marching  to  death. 

The  gate  opened.  Sir  John  and  the  six  burgesses 
passed  through.  It  closed  behind  them.  Sir  Walter 
stood  waiting. 

"I  deliver  to  you,  as  captain  of  Calais,"  said  Sir 
John,  "  and  by  the  consent  of  all  the  people  of  the 
town,  these  six  burgesses,  who  I  swear  to  you  are 
the  richest  and  most  honorable  burgesses  of  Calais. 
Therefore,  gentle  knight,  I  beg  you  pray  the  king  to 
have  mercy  on  them,  and  grant  them  their  lives." 

"  What  the  king  will  do  I  cannot  say,"  answered 
Sir  Walter,  "  but  I  shall  do  for  them  the  best  I  can." 

The  coming  of  the  hostages  roused  great  feeling 
in  the  English  host.  Their  pale  and  wasted  faces, 
their  miserable  state,  the  fate  which  threatened  them, 
roused  pity  and  sympathy  in  the  minds  of  many, 
and  not  the  least  in  that  of  the  queen,  who  was  with 
Edward  in  the  camp,  and  came  with  him  and  his 
tram  of  nobles  as  they  approached  the  place  to  which 
the  hostages  had  been  led. 

When  they  were  brought  before  the  king  the  bur- 


160  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

gesses  kneeled  and  piteously  begged  his  grace,  Eustace 
saying,— 

"  Gentle  king,  here  be  we  six,  who  were  burgesses 
of  Calais,  and  great  merchants.  "We  bring  you  the 
keys  of  the  town  and  the  castle,  and  submit  our- 
selves fully  to  your  will,  to  save  the  remainder  of  our 
people,  who  have  already  suffered  great  pain.  We 
beseech  you  to  have  mercy  and  pity  on  us  through 
your  high  nobleness." 

His  words  brought  tears  from  many  persons  there 
present,  for  naught  so  piteous  had  ever  come  before 
them.  But  the  king  looked  on  them  with  vindictive 
eyes,  and  for  some  moments  stood  in  lowering  silence. 
Then  he  e-ave  the  harsh  command  to  take  these  men 
and  strike  off  their  heads. 

At  this  cruel  sentence  the  lords  of  his  council 
crowded  round  the  king,  begging  for  compassion,  but 
he  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  their  pleadings.  Sir  Walter 
de  Manny  then  said,  his  eyes  fixed  in  sorrow  on  the 
pale  and  trembling  victims, — 

"  Noble  sire,  for  God's  sake  restrain  your  wrath. 
You  have  the  renown  of  all  gentleness  and  nobility ; 
I  pray  you  do  not  a  thing  that  can  lay  a  blemish  on 
your  fair  fame,  or  give  men  cause  to  speak  of  you 
despitefully.  Every  man  will  say  it  is  a  great  cruelty 
to  put  to  death  such  honest  persons,  who  of  their  own 
will  have  put  themselves  into  your  hands  to  save  the 
remainder  of  their  people." 

These  words  seemed  rather  to  heighten  than  to 
soften  the  king's  wrath.  He  turned  away  fiercely, 
saying,— 

"  Hold  your  peace,  Master  Walter;  it  shall  be  as  I 


THE   SIEGE   OF   CALAIS.  161 

have  said. — Call  the  headsman.  They  of  Calais  have 
made  so  many  of  my  men  to  die,  that  they  must  die 
themselves." 

The  queen  had  listened  sadly  to  these  words,  while 
tears  flowed  freely  from  her  gentle  eyes.  On  hear- 
ing the  harsh  decision  of  her  lord  and  king,  she  could 
restrain  herself  no  longer.  "With  streaming  eyes  she 
cast  herself  on  her  knees  at  his  feet,  and  turned  up 
to  him  her  sweet,  imploring  face. 

"Gentle  sir, "she  said,  "since  that  day  in  which  I 
passed  over  sea  in  great  peril,  as  you  know,  I  have 
asked  no  fuvor  from  you.  Now  I  pray  and  beseech 
you  with  folded  hands,  in  honor  of  the  Son  of  the 
Virgin  Mary,  and  for  the  love  which  you  bear  me, 
that  you  will  have  mercy  on  these  poor  men." 

The  king  looked  down  upon  her  face,  wet  with 
tears,  and  stood  silent  for  a  few  minutes.  At  length 
he  spoke. 

"  Ah,  dame,  I  would  you  had  been  in  some  other 
place  this  day.  You  pray  so  tenderly  that  I  cannot 
refuse  you.  Though  it  is  much  against  my  will, 
nevertheless  take  them,  I  give  them  to  you  to  use  as 
you  will." 

The  queen,  filled  with  joy  at  these  words  of  grace 
and  mercy,  returned  glad  thanks  to  the  king,  and 
bade  those  near  her  to  take  the  halters  fi-om  the 
iiocks  of  the  burgesses  and  clothe  them.  Then  she 
saw  that  a  good  dinner  was  set  before  them,  and 
gave  each  of  them  six  nobles,  afterwards  directing 
that  they  should  bo  taken  in  safety  through  the 
English  army  and  set  at  liberty. 

Thus  ended  that  memoi-able  siege  of  Calais,  with 
II.— I  14* 


162  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

one  of  the  most  dramatic  incidents  ■which  history 
has  to  tell.  For  more  than  two  centuries  the  cap- 
tured city  remained  in  English  hands,  being  theirs 
long  after  they  had  lost  all  other  possessions  on  the 
soil  of  France.  At  length,  in  1558,  in  the  reign  of 
Queen  Mary,  it  was  taken  by  the  French,  greatly  to 
the  chagrin  of  the  queen,  who  is  reported  to  have 
said,  "When  I  die,  you  will  find  the  word  Calais 
•written  on  my  heart." 


THE  BLACK  PRINCE  AT 
POITIERS, 

Through  the  centre  of  France  marched  the  Black 
Prince,  with  a  email  but  valiant  army.  Into  the 
heart  of  that  fair  kingdom  had  he  come,  ravaging 
the  land  as  he  went,  leaving  misery  and  destitution 
at  every  step,  when  suddenly  across  his  line  of  march 
there  appeared  an  unlooked-for  obstacle.  The  plun- 
dering marches  of  the  EngUsh  had  roused  the 
French.  In  hosts  they  had  gathered  round  their 
king,  marched  in  haste  to  confront  the  advancing 
foe,  and  on  the  night  of  Saturday,  September  17, 
1356,  the  English  found  their  line  of  retreat  cut  oflf 
by  what  seemed  an  innumerable  array  of  knights 
and  men-at-arms,  filling  the  whole  country  in  their 
front  as  far  as  eye  could  see,  closing  with  a  wall  of 
hostile  steel  their  only  road  to  safety. 

The  danger  was  great.  For  two  3-ears  the  Black 
Prince  and  his  army  of  foragers  had  held  France 
at  their  mercy,  plundering  to  their  hearts'  content. 
The  year  before,  the  young  prince  had  led  his  army 
up  the  Garonne  into — as  an  ancient  chronicler  tells 
us — "  what  was  before  one  of  the  fat  countries  of  the 
world,  the  people  good  and  simple,  who  did  not  know 
what  war  was;    indeed,  no  war  had  been  waged 

163 


164  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

against  thorn  till  the  prince  came.  The  English  and 
Gascons  found  the  country  full  and  gaj,  the  rooms 
adorned  with  carpets  and  draperies,  the  caskets  and 
chests  full  of  fair  jewels.  But  nothing  was  safe 
from  these  robbers.  They,  and  especially  the  Gas- 
cons, who  are  very  greedy,  carried  off  everything." 
When  they  reached  Bordeaux  their  horses  were  "  so 
laden  with  spoils  that  they  could  hardly  move." 

Again  the  prince  had  led  his  army  of  freebooters 
through  France,  but  he  was  not  to  marcb  out  again 
with  the  same  impunity  as  before.  King  John,  who 
had  just  come  to  the  throne,  hastily  gathered  an 
army  and  marched  to  his  country's  relief.  On  the 
night  named  the  Black  Prince,  marching  briskly 
forward  with  his  small  force  of  about  eight  thousand 
men,  found  himself  suddenly  in  face  of  an  over- 
whelming array  of  not  less  than  sixty  thousand  of 
the  best  fighting  blood  of  France. 

The  case  seemed  hopeless.  Surrender  appeared 
the  only  resource  of  the  English.  Just  ten  years 
before,  at  Crccy,  Edward  III.,  in  like  manner  driven 
to  bay,  had  with  a  small  force  of  English  put  to  rout 
an  overwhelming  body  of  French.  In  that  affair 
the  Black  Prince,  then  little  more  than  a  boy,  had 
won  the  chief  honor  of  the  day.  But  it  was  beyond 
hope  that  so  great  a  success  could  again  be  attained. 
It  seemed  madness  to  join  battle  with  such  a  dispro- 
portion of  numbers.  Yet  the  prince  remembered 
Crecy,  and  simply  said,  on  being  told  how  mighty 
was  the  host  of  the  French, — 

"  "Well,  in  the  name  of  God,  let  us  now  study  how 
we  shaU  fight  with  them  at  our  advantage." 


THE   BLACK  PEINCE  AT  POITIERS.  165 

Small  as  was  the  English  force,  it  had  all  the  ad- 
vantages  of  position.  In  its  front  were  thick  and 
strong  hedges.  It  could  be  approached  only  by  a 
deep  and  narrow  lane  that  ran  between  vineyards. 
In  the  rear  was  higher  ground,  on  which  the  small 
body  of  men-at-arms  were  stationed.  The  bowmen 
lay  behind  the  hedges  and  in  the  vineyards,  guard- 
ing the  lane  of  approach.  Here  they  lay  that  night, 
awaiting  the  fateful  morrow. 

With  the  morning's  light  the  French  army  was 
drawn  up  in  lines  of  assault.  "  Then  trumpets  blew 
up  through  the  host,"  says  gossipy  old  Froissartj 
•'and  every  man  mounted  on  horseback  and  went 
into  the  field,  where  they  saw  the  king's  banner 
wave  with  the  wind.  There  might  have  been  seen 
great  nobles  of  fair  harness  and  rich  armory  of 
banners  and  pennons;  for  there  was  all  the  flower 
of  France;  there  was  none  durst  abide  at  home, 
without  he  would  be  shamed  forever." 

It  was  Sunday  morning,  a  suitable  day  for  the 
church  to  take  part  in  the  affair.  Those  were  times 
in  which  the  part  of  the  church  was  apt  to  be  played 
with  sword  and  spear,  but  on  this  occasion  it  bore 
the  olive-branch.  At  an  early  hour  the  cardinal  of 
Perigord  appeared  on  the  scene,  eager  to  make  peace 
between  the  opposing  forces.  The  pope  had  com- 
missioned him  to  this  duty. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  kneeling  before  King  John,  "yo 
have  here  all  the  flower  of  your  realm  against  a 
handful  of  Englishmen,  as  regards  your  company. 
And,  sir,  if  ye  may  have  them  accorded  to  you  with- 
out battle,  it  shall  be  mure  profitable  and  honorable 


166  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

than  to  adventure  this  noble  chivalry.  I  beg  you 
let  me,  in  the  name  of  God  and  humility,  ride  to  the 
prince  and  show  htm  in  what  danger  ye  have  him 
m." 

"  That  pleases  me  well,"  answered  the  king.  "  Go ; 
but  return  again  shortly." 

The  cardinal  thereupon  rode  to  the  English  side 
and  accosted  the  prince,  whom  he  found  on  foot 
among  his  men.     A  courteous  greeting  passed. 

"  Fair  son,"  said  the  envoy  of  peace,  "  if  you  and 
your  council  know  justly  the  power  of  the  French 
king,  you  will  suffer  me  to  treat  for  peace  between 

you." 

''  I  would  gladly  fall  to  any  reasonable  way,"  an- 
swered the  prince,  "if  but  my  honor  and  that  of 
my  people  be  saved." 

Some  further  words  passed,  and  the  cardinal  rode 
again  to  the  king. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  there  seems  hope  of  making  peace 
with  your  foes,  nor  need  you  make  haste  to  fight 
them,  for  they  cannot  flee  if  they  would.  I  beg  you, 
therefore,  to  forbear  for  this  day,  and  put  off  the 
battle  till  to  morrow  sunrise.  That  may  give  time 
to  conclude  a  truce." 

This  advice  was  not  pleasing  to  the  king,  who  saw 
no  wisdom  in  delay,  but  the  cardinal  in  the  end  per- 
Buaded  him  to  consent  to  a  day's  respite.  The  con- 
ference ended,  the  king's  pavilion  of  red  silk  was 
raised,  and  word  sent  through  the  army  that  the 
men  might  take  their  ease,  except  the  advanced 
forces  of  the  constable  and  marshal. 

Ail   that  day  the  cardinal  kept  himself  busy  in 


^. 


THE   BLACK   PRINCE   AT   POITIERS.  167 

earnest  efforts  to  effect  an  agreement.  Back  and 
forth  he  rodo  between  the  tents  of  the  king  and  tho 
prince,  seeking  to  make  terms  of  peace  or  surrender. 
Offer  after  offer  was  made  and  refused.  The  king's 
main  demand  was  that  four  of  the  principal  Englieh- 
men  should  be  placed  in  his  hands,  to  deal  with  as 
he  would,  and  all  the  others  yield  themselves  pris- 
onoi-s.  This  the  prince  refused.  He  would  agree 
to  return  all  the  castles  and  towns  he  bad  taken, 
surrender  all  prisoners^  and  swear  not  to  bear  arms 
against  the  French  for  seven  years;  this  and  no 
more  he  would  offer. 

King  John  would  listen  to  no  such  terms.  Ho 
had  the  English  at  his  mercy,  as  he  fully  believed, 
and  it  was  for  him,  not  for  thena,  to  make  terms. 
He  would  be  generous.  The  prince  and  a  hundred 
of  his  knights  alone  should  yield  themselves  pris- 
oners. The  rest  might  go  free.  Surely  this  was  a 
most  favorable  offer,  pleaded  the  cardinal.  But  so 
thought  not  the  Black  Prince,  who  refused  it  abso- 
lutely, and  the  cardinal  returned  in  despair  to  Poi- 
tiers. 

That  day  of  respite  was  not  wasted  by  the  prince. 
"What  he  lacked  in  men  he  must  make  up  in  work. 
He  kept  his  men  busily  employed,  deepening  the 
dikes,  strengthening  the  hedges,  making  all  the  prep- 
arations that  skill  suggested  and  time  permitted. 

The  sun  rose  on  Monday  morning,  and  with  its 
first  beams  the  tireless  peace-maker  was  again  on 
horse,  with  the  forlorn  hope  that  the  bloody  fray 
might  still  be  avoided.  Ho  found  the  leaders  of  the 
hosts  in  a  different  temper  from  that  of  the  day 


168  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

before.  The  time  for  words  had  gone ;  that  for  blows 
had  come. 

"  Return  whither  ye  will,"  was  King  John's  abrupt 
answer ;  "  bring  hither  no  more  words  of  treaty  or 
peace ;  and  if  you  love  youi-self,  depart  shortly." 

To  the  prince  rode  the  good  cardinal,  overcome 
with  emotion. 

"  Sir,"  he  pleaded,  "  do  what  you  can  for  peace. 
Otherwise  there  is  no  help  from  battle,  for  I  can 
find  no  spirit  of  accord  in  the  French  king." 

"  Nor  here,"  answered  the  prince,  cheerfully.  "  i 
and  all  my  people  are  of  the  same  intent, — and  God 
help  the  right  I" 

The  cardinal  turned  and  rode  away,  sore-hearted 
with  pity.  As  he  went  the  prince  turned  to  his 
men. 

"  Though,"  he  said,  "  we  be  but  a  small  company 
as  compared  with  the  power  of  our  foes,  let  not  that 
abash  us ;  for  victory  lies  not  in  the  multitude  of 
people,  but  goes  where  God  sends  it.  If  fortune 
makes  the  day  ours,  we  shall  be  honored  by  all  the 
world ;  but  if  we  die,  the  king,  my  father,  and  your 
good  friends  and  kinsmen  shall  revenge  us.  There- 
fore, sirs  and  comrades,  I  require  you  to  do  your 
duty  this  day;  for  if  God  be  pleased,  and  Saint 
George  aid,  this  day  you  shall  see  me  a  good  knight." 

The  battle  began  with  a  charge  of  three  hundred 
French  knights  up  the  narrow  lane.  K"o  sooner  had 
they  appeared  than  the  vineyards  and  hedges  rained 
arrows  upon  them,  killing  and  wounding  knights 
and  horses;  the  animals,  wild  with  pain,  flinging 
and  trampling  their  masters;   the  knights,  heavy 


THE   BLACK   PRINCE   AT   POITIERS.  169 

with  armor  and  disabled  by  wounds,  strewing  that 
fatal  lane  with  their  bodies ;  while  still  the  storm  of 
Bteel-pointed  shafts  dealt  death  in  their  midst. 

The  horsemen  fell  back  in  dismay,  breaking  the 
thick  ranks  of  footmen  behind  them,  and  spreading 
confusion  wherever  they  appeared.  At  this  critical 
moment  a  body  of  English  horse,  who  were  posted 
on  a  little  hill  to  the  right,  rushed  furiously  upon 
the  French  flank.  At  the  same  time  the  archera 
poured  their  arrows  upon  the  crowded  and  disor- 
dered mass,  and  the  prince,  seeing  the  state  of  the 
enemy,  led  his  men-at-arms  vigorously  upon  their 
broken  ranks. 

"  St.  George  for  Guienne  I"  was  the  cry,  as  the 
horsemen  spurred  upon  the  panic-stricken  masses 
of  the  French. 

"Let  us  push  to  the  French  king's  station;  there 
lies  the  heart  of  the  battle,"  said  Lord  Chandos  to 
the  prince.  "He  is  too  valiant  to  fly,  I  fancy.  If 
we  fight  well,  I  trust,  by  the  grace  of  God  and  St. 
George,  we  shall  have  him.  You  said  we  should  see 
you  this  day  a  good  knight." 

"  You  shall  not  see  me  turn  back,"  said  the  prince. 
"Advance,  banner,  in  the  name  of  God  and  St. 
George  1" 

On  went  the  banner ;  on  came  the  array  of  fighting 
knights;  into  the  French  host  thoy  pressed  deeper 
and  deeper.  King  John  their  goal.  The  field  was 
sirewn  with  dead  and  dying ;  panic  was  spreading 
in  widening  circles  through  the  French  army;  the 
repulsed  horsemen  were  in  full  flight  and  thousands 
of  those  behind  them  broke  and  followed.  King 
H  15 


170  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

John  fought  with  knightly  courage,  his  eon  Philip, 
a  boy  of  sixteen,  by  his  side,  aiding  him  by  his  cries 
of  warning.  But  nothing  could  withstand  the  Eng. 
lish  onset.  Some  of  his  defenders  fell,  others  fled; 
he  would  have  fallen  himself  but  for  the  help  of  a 
French  knight,  in  the  English  service. 

"Sir,  yield  you,"  he  called  to  the  king,  pressing 
between  him  and  his  assailants. 

"  To  whom  shall  I  yield  ?"  asked  the  king.  "  Where 
is  my  cousin,  the  pi'ince  of  Wales?'' 

"  He  is  not  here,  sir.  Yield,  and  I  will  bring  you 
to  him." 

"  And  who  are  you  ?" 

"  I  am  Denis  of  Morbecque,  a  knight  of  Artois. 
I  serve  the  English  king,  for  I  am  banished  from 
France,  and  all  I  had  has  been  forfeited." 

"  Then  I  yield  me  to  you,"  said  the  king,  handing 
him  his  right  gauntlet. 

Meanwhile  the  rout  of  the  French  had  become 
complete.  On  all  sides  they  were  in  flight ;  on  all 
sides  the  English  were  in  pursuit.  The  prince  had 
fought  until  he  was  overcome  with  fatigue. 

"  1  see  no  more  banners  or  pennons  of  the  French," 
said  Sir  John  Chandos,  who  had  kept  beside  him  the 
day  through.  "  You  are  sore  chafed.  Set  your  ban- 
ner high  in  this  bush,  and  let  us  rest." 

The  prince's  pavilion  was  set  up,  and  drink  brought 
him.  As  he  quaffed  it,  he  asked  if  any  one  had 
tidings  of  the  French  king. 

"  He  is  dead  or  taken,"  was  the  answer.  "  He  has 
not  left  the  field." 

Two  knights  were  thereupon  sent  to  look  for  bim. 


THE  BLACK   PRINCE   AT   POITIERS.  171 

and  had  not  got  far  before  they  saw  a  troop  of  men- 
at-arms  wearily  approaching.  In  their  midst  was 
King  John,  afoot  and  in  peril,  for  they  had  taken 
him  from  Sir  Denis,  and  were  quarrelling  as  to  who 
owned  him. 

"Strive  not  about  my  taking,"  said  the  king. 
«  Lead  me  to  the  prince.  I  am  rich  enough  to  make 
you  all  rich." 

The  brawling  went  on,  however,  until  the  lords 
who  had  been  sent  to  seek  him  came  near. 

"What  means  all  this,  good  sirs?"  they  asked. 
"  Why  do  you  quarrel  ?" 

"  We  have  the  French  king  prisoner,"  was  the 
answer;  "and  there  are  more  than  ten  knights  and 
squires  who  claim  to  have  taken  him  and  his  son." 

The  envoys  at  this  bade  them  halt  and  cease  their 
clamor,  on  pain  of  their  heads,  and  taking  the  king 
and  his  son  from  their  midst  they  brought  him  to  the 
tent  of  the  prince  of  Wales,  where  the  exalted  cap- 
tives were  received  with  all  courtea3% 

The  battle,  begun  at  dawn,  was  ended  by  noon. 
In  that  time  was  slain  "all  the  flower  of  France; 
and  there  was  taken,  with  the  king  and  the  Lord 
Philip  his  son,  seventeen  earls,  besides  barons, 
knights,  and  squires." 

The  men  returning  from  the  pursuit  brought  in 
twice  as  many  prisoners  as  their  own  army  numbered 
in  all.  So  great  was  the  host  of  captives  that  many 
of  them  were  ransomed  on  the  spot,  and  set  free  on 
their  word  of  honor  to  .return  to  Bordeaux  with 
their  ransom  before  Christmas. 

The  prince  and  his  comrades  had  breakfasted  that 


172  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

morning  in  dread  ;  they  supped  that  night  in  triumph. 
The  supper  party,  as  described  by  Froissart,  is  a  true 
picture  of  the  days  of  chivalry, — in  war  all  cruelty, 
in  peace  all  courtesy;  ruthless  in  the  field,  gentle  and 
ceremonious  at  the  feast.  Thus  the  picturesque  old 
chronicler  limns  it, — 

"  The  prince  made  the  king  and  his  son,  the  Lord 
James  of  Bourbon,  the  Lord  John  d'Artois,  the  earl  of 
Tancarville,  the  Lord  d'Estampes,  the  Earl  Dammar- 
tyn,  the  earl  of  Greville,  and  the  earl  of  Pertney,  to  sit 
all  at  one  board,  and  other  lords,  knights,  and  squires 
at  other  tables ;  and  always  the  prince  served  before 
the  king  as  humbly  as  he  could,  and  would  not  sit  at 
the  king's  board,  for  any  desire  that  the  king  could 
make;  but  he  said  he  was  not  sufiicient  to  sit  at  the 
table  with  so  great  a  prince  as  the  king  was ;  but  then 
he  said  to  the  king, '  Sir,  for  God's  sake,  make  none  evil 
nor  heavy  cheer,  though  God  did  not  this  day  con- 
sent to  follow  your  will ;  for,  sir,  surely  the  king  my 
father  shall  bear  you  as  much  honor  and  amity  as 
he  may  do,  and  shall  accord  with  you  so  reasonably, 
and  ye  shall  ever  be  friends  together  after;  and,  sir, 
metbinks  you  ought  to  rejoice,  though  the  journey 
be  not  as  you  would  have  had  it;  for  this  day  ye 
have  won  the  high  renown  of  prowess,  and  have 
passed  this  day  in  valiantness  all  other  of  your 
party.  Sir,  I  say  not  this  to  mock  you ;  for  all  that 
be  on  our  party,  that  saw  every  man's  deeds,  are 
plainly  accorded  by  true  sentence  to  give  you  the 
prize  and  ehaplet." 

So  ended  that  great  day  at  Poitiers.  It  ended 
miserably  enough   for  France,  the  routed   soldiery 


THE  BLACK   PEINCE    AT   TOITIEKS.  173 

tbemselv^es  becoming  bandits  to  ravage  ber,  and  tbe 
people  being  robbed  for  ransom  till  tbe  wbole  realm 
was  given  over  to  misery  and  woo. 

It  ended  famously  for  England,  another  proud 
cbaplet  of  victory  being  added  to  tbe  crown  of  glory 
of  Edward  III,  and  bis  valiant  son,  tbe  great  day 
at  Crecy  being  matched  with  as  great  a  day  at  Poi- 
tiers. Agincourt  was  still  to  come,  tbe  three  being 
tbe  most  notable  instances  in  history  of  the  triumph 
of  a  handful  of  men  well  led  over  a  great  but  feebly- 
handled  host.  The  age  of  knighthood  and  chivalry 
reached  its  culmination  on  these  three  memorable 
days.  It  ended  at  Agincourt,  "  villanous  gunpowder" 
sounding  its  requiem  on  that  great  field.  Cannon, 
indeed,  had  been  used  by  Edward  III.  in  his  wars; 
but  not  until  after  this  date  did  fire  arms  banish  the 
spear  and  the  bow  from  the  "  tented  field." 


WAT  TYLER  AND    THE  MEN 
OF  KENT. 

In  that  year  of  woe  and  dread,  1348,  the  Black 
Death  fell  upon  England.  Never  before  had  so 
frightful  a  calamity  been  known  ;  never  since  has  it 
been  equalled.  Men  died  by  millions.  All  Europe 
had  been  swept  by  the  plague,  as  by  a  besom  of  de- 
struction, and  now  England  became  its  prey.  The 
population  of  the  island  at  that  period  was  not  great, 
— some  three  or  four  millions  in  all.  When  the 
plague  had  passed  more  than  half  of  these  were  in 
their  graves,  and  in  many  places  there  were  hardly 
enough  living  to  bury  the  dead. 

We  call  it  a  calamity.  It  is  not  bo  sure  that  it 
was.  Life  in  England  at  that  day,  for  the  masses 
of  the  people,  was  not  so  pi*ecious  a  boon  that  death 
had  need  to  be  sorely  deplored.  A  handful  of  lords 
and  a  host  of  laborers,  the  latter  just  above  the  state 
of  slavery,  constituted  the  population.  Many  of  the 
serfs  had  beeu  set  free,  but  the  new  liberty  of  the 
people  was  not  a  state  of  unadulterated  happiness. 
War  had  drained  the  land.  The  luxury  of  the  nobles 
added  to  the  drain.  The  patricians  caroused.  The 
plebeians  suffered.  The  Black  Death  came.  After  it 
had  passed,  labor,  for  the  first  time  in  English  his- 
tory, was  master  of  the  situation. 
174 


WAT   TYLER   AND   THE   MEN   OF    KENT.  175 

Laborers  had  grown  scarce.  Many  men  refused 
to  work.  The  first  general  strike  for  higher  wages 
began.  In  the  country,  fields  were  left  untilled  and 
harvests  rotted  on  the  ground.  "The  sheep  and 
cattle  strayed  through  the  fields  and  corn,  and  there 
were  none  left  who  could  drive  them,"  In  the  towns, 
craftsmen  refused  to  work  at  the  old  rate  of  wages. 
Higher  wages  were  paid,  but  the  scarcity  of  food 
made  higher  prices,  and  men  were  little  better  off. 
Many  laborers,  indeed,  declined  to  work  at  all,  be- 
soming tramps, — what  were  known  as  "  sturdy  beg- 
gars,"— or  haunting  the  forests  as  bandits. 

The  king  and  parliament  sought  to  put  an  end  to 
this  state  of  affairs  by  law.  An  ordinance  was  passed 
■whose  effect  would  have  made  slaves  of  the  people. 
Every  man  under  sixty,  not  a  land  owner  or  already 
at  work  (says  this  famous  act),  must  work  for  the 
employer  who  demands  his  labor,  and  for  the  rate  of 
wages  that  prevailed  two  years  before  the  plague. 
The  man  who  refused  should  be  thrown  into  jirison. 
This  law  failed  to  work,  and  sterner  measures  were 
passed.  The  laborer  was  once  more  made  a  serf, 
bound  to  the  soil,  his  wage-rate  fixed  by  parlia- 
ment. Law  after  law  followed,  branding  with  a  hot 
iroa  on  the  forehead  being  finally  ordered  as  a  re- 
stnant  to  runaway  laborers.  It  was  the  first  great 
effort  made  by  the  class  in  power  to  put  down  an 
industrial  revolt. 

The  peasantry  and  the  mechanics  of  the  towns 
resisted.  The  poor  found  their  mouth-piece  in  John 
Ball,  "A  mad  priest  of  Kent,"  as  Froissart  calls  him. 
Mad  hid  words  must  have  seemed  to  the  nobles  of  the 


176  HISTOEIOAL   TALKS. 

land.  "  Good  people,"  he  declared,  "  things  will  nevei 
go  well  in  England  so  long  as  goods  be  not  in  com- 
mon, and  so  long  as  there  be  villains  and  gentlemen. 
By  what  right  are  they  whom  we  call  lords  greater 
folk  than  we  ?  On  what  grounds  have  they  deserved 
it  ?  Why  do  they  hold  us  in  serfage  ?  If  we  all 
came  of  the  same  father  and  mother,  of  Adam  and 
Eve,  how  can  they  say  or  prove  that  they  are  better 
than  we,  if  it  be  not  that  they  make  us  gain  for 
them  by  our  toil  what  they  spend  in  their  pride  ? 
They  are  clothed  in  velvet,  and  warm  in  their  furs 
and  their  ermines,  while  we  are  covered  with  rags. 
They  have  wine  and  spices  and  fair  bread;  and  we 
have  oat-cake  and  straw,  and  water  to  drink.  They 
have  leisure  and  fine  houses;  we  have  pain  and 
labor,  the  rain  and  the  wind  in  the  fields.  And  yet 
it  is  of  us  and  of  our  toil  that  these  men  hold  their 
Btate." 

So  spoke  this  early  socialist.  So  spoke  his  hearers 
in  the  popular  rhyme  of  the  day : 

"  When  Adam  delved  and  Eve  span, 
Who  was  then  the  gentleman?" 

So  things  went  on  for  years,  growing  worse  year  by 
year,  the  fire  of  discontent  smouldering,  ready  at  a 
moment  'to  burst  into  flame. 

At  length  the  occasion  came.  Edward  the  Third 
died,  but  he  left  an  ugly  heritage  of  debt  behind 
him.  His  useless  wars  in  France  had  beggared  the 
crown.  New  monej''  must  be  raised.  Parliament 
laid  a  poll-tax  on  every  person  in  the  realm,  tha 
poorest  to  pay  as  much  as  the  wealthiest. 


'A  AT   TYLER   AND   THE   MEN   OF   KENT.  177 

Hero  was  an  application  of  the  doctrine  of  equality 
of  which  the  people  did  not  approve.  The  land  was 
quickly  on  fii'e  from  sea  to  sea.  Crowds  of  peasants 
gathered  and  drove  the  tax-gatherers  with  clubs  from 
their  homes.  Rude  rhymes  passed  from  lip  to  lip, 
full  of  the  spirit  of  revolt.  All  over  southern  Eng- 
land spread  the  sentiment  of  rebellion. 

The  incident  which  set  flame  to  the  fuel  was  this. 
At  Dartford,  in  Kent,  Uved  one  Wat  Tyler,  a  hardy 
soldier  who  had  served  in  the  French  wars.  To  his 
house,  in  his  absence,  came  a  tax-collector,  and  de- 
manded the  tax  on  his  daughter.  The  mother  de- 
clared that  she  was  not  taxable,  being  under  fourteen 
years  of  age.  The  collector  thereupon  seized  the 
child  in  an  insulting  manner,  so  frightening  her  that 
her  screams  reached  the  ears  of  her  father,  who  was 
at  work  not  far  off.  Wat  flew  to  the  spot,  struck 
one  blow,  and  the  villanous  collector  lay  dead  at  his 
feet. 

Within  an  hoilr  the  people  of  the  town  were  in 
arms.  As  the  story  spread  through  the  country,  the 
people  elsewhere  rose  and  put  themselves  under  the 
leadership  of  Wat  Tyler.  In  Essex  was  another 
party  in  arms,  under  a  priest  called  Jack  Straw. 
Canterbury  rose  in  rebellion,  plundered  the  palace 
of  the  archbishop,  and  released  John  Ball  from  tho 
prison  to  which  this  "  mad"  socialist  had  been  con- 
signed. The  revolt  spread  like  wildfire.  County 
after  county  rose  in  insurrection.  But  the  heart  of 
the  rebellion  lay  in  Kent,  and  from  that  county 
marched  a  hundred  thousand  men,  with  Wat  Tyler 
at  their  head,  London  their  goal. 


178  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

To  Blackheath  they  came,  the  inultilude  swelling 
as  it  marched.  Every  lawyer  they  met  was  killed. 
The  houses  of  the  stewards  were  burned,  and  the 
records  of  the  manor  courts  flung  into  the  flames. 
A  wild  desire  for  liberty  and  equality  animated  the 
mob,  yet  they  did  do  further  harm.  All  travellers 
were  stopped  and  made  to  swear  that  they  would  be 
true  to  King  Eicbard  and  the  people.  The  king's 
mother  fell  into  their  hands,  but  all  the  harm  done  her 
was  the  being  made  to  kiss  a  few  rough-bearded  men 
who  vowed  loyalty  to  her  son. 

The  young  king — then  a  boy  of  sixteen — addressed 
them  from  a  boat  in  the  river.  But  his  council 
would  not  let  him  land,  and  the  peasants,  furious  at 
his  distrust,  rushed  upon  London,  uttering  cries  of 
"  Treason  !"  The  drawbridge  of  London  Bridge  had 
been  raised,  but  the  insurgents  had  friends  in  the 
city  who  lowered  it,  and  quickly  the  capital  w^as 
swarming  with  Wat  Tyler's  infuriated  men. 

Soon  the  prisons  were  broken  open,  and  their  in- 
mates had  joined  the  insurgent  ranks.  The  palace 
of  the  Duke  of  Lancaster,  the  Savoy,  the  most  beau- 
tiful in  England,  was  quickly  in  flames.  That  noble- 
man, detested  by  the  people,  had  fled  in  all  haste 
to  Scotland.  The  Temple,  the  head-quarters  of  the 
lawyers,  was  set  on  fire,  and  its  books  and  documents 
reduced  to  ashes.  The  houses  of  the  foreign  mer- 
chants were  burned.  There  was  "method  in  the 
madness"  of  the  insurgents.  They  sought  no  indis- 
criminate ruin.  The  lawyers  and  the  foreigners 
were  their  special  detestation.  Eobbery  was  not 
permitted.     One  thief  was  seen  with  a  silver  vessel 


WAT  TYLER  AND  THE  MEN  OP  KENT.      179 

which  ho  had  stolen  from  the  Savoy.  He  and  hia 
plunder  Avero  flung  together  into  the  flames.  They 
were,  as  they  boasted,  "  seekers  of  truth  and  justice, 
not  thieves  or  robbers." 

Thus  passed  the  first  day  of  the  peasant  occupation 
of  London,  the  people  of  the  town  in  terror,  the  in- 
surgents in  subjection  to  their  leaders,  and  still  more 
so  to  their  own  ideas.  Many  of  them  were  drunk, 
but  no  outrages  were  committed.  The  influence  of 
one  terrible  example  repressed  all  theft.  Never  had 
so  orderly  a  nob  held  possession  of  so  great  a  city. 

On  the  second  day,  Wat  Tyler  and  a  band  of  his 
followers  forced  their  way  into  the  Tower.  The 
knights  of  the  garrison  wei'e  panic-stricken,  but  no 
harm  was  done  them.  The  peasants,  in  rough  good 
humor,  took  them  by  the  beards,  and  declared  that 
they  were  now  equals,  and  that  in  the  time  to  come 
they  would  be  good  friends  and  comrades. 

But  this  rude  jollity  ceased  when  Archbishop  Sud- 
bury, who  had  been  active  in  preventing  the  king 
from  landing  from  the  Thames,  and  the  ministers 
who  wei'e  concerned  in  the  levy  of  the  jDoll-tax,  fell 
into  their  hands.  Short  shrift  was  given  these  de- 
tested oflicials.  They  were  di'aggcd  to  Tower  Hill, 
and  their  heads  struck  ofi". 

"  King  Eichard  and  the  people  I"  was  the  rallying, 
cry  of  the  insurgents.  It  went  ill  with  those  who 
hesitated  to  subscribe  to  this  sentiment.  So  evidently 
were  the  peasants  friendly  to  the  king  that  the  youth- 
ful monarch  fearlessly  sought  them  at  Mile  End,  and 
held  a  conference  with  sixty  thousand  of  them  who 
lay  there  encamped. 


180  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

"  I  am  your  king  and  lord,  good  people,"  he  boldly 
addressed  them  ;  "what  will  ye?" 

"We  will  that  you  set  us  fre^  forever,'  was  the 
answer  of  the  insurgents,  "us  and  our  lands;  and 
that  we  be  never  named  nor  held  for  serfs." 

"I  grant  it,"  said  the  king. 

His  words  were  received  with  shouts  of  joy.  The 
conference  then  continued,  the  leaders  of  the  peasants 
proposing  four  conditions,  to  all  of  which  the  king 
assented.  These  were,  first,  that  neither  they  nor 
their  descendants  should  ever  be  enslaved;  second, 
that  tl)e  rent  of  land  should  be  paid  in  money  at  a 
fixed  price,  not  in  service ;  third,  that  they  should  be 
at  liberty  to  buy  and  sell  in  market  and  elsewhere, 
like  other  free  men ;  foui"th,  that  they  should  be 
pardoned  for  past  offences. 

"  I  grant  them  all,"  said  Richard.  "  Charters  of 
freedom  and  pardon  shall  be  at  once  issued.  Go  home 
and  dwell  in  peace,  and  no  harm  shall  come  to  you." 

More  than  thirty  clerks  spent  the  rest  of  that  day 
writing  at  all  speed  the  pledges  of  amnesty  promised 
by  the  king.  These  satisfied  tiie  bulk  of  the  insur- 
gents, who  quietly  left  for  their  homes,  placing  all 
confidence  in  the  smooth  promises  of  the  youthful 
monarch. 

Some  interesting  scenes  followed  their  return. 
The  gates  of  the  Abbey  of  St.  Albans  were  forced 
open,  and  a  throng  of  townsmen  crowded  in,  led  by 
one  William  Grindcobbe,  who  compelled  the  abbot  to 
deliver  up  the  charters  which  held  the  town  in  serf- 
age to  the  abbey.  Then  they  burst  into  the  cloister, 
Bought  the  millstones  which  the  courts  had  declared 


"WAT   TYLER   AND   THE   MEN   OP   KENT.  181 

should  alone  grind  corn  at  St.Albans,  and  broke  them 
into  small  pieces.  These  were  disti'ibuted  among 
the  peasants  as  visible  emblems  of  their  new-gained 
freedom. 

Meanwhile,  Wat  Tyler  had  remained  in  London, 
with  thirty  thousand  men  at  his  back,  to  see  that 
the  kingly  pledge  was  fullilled.  lie  had  not  been  at 
Mile  End  during  the  conference  with  the  king,  and 
was  not  satisfied  with  the  demands  of  the  peasants. 
He  asked,  in  addition,  that  the  forest  laws  should  be 
abolished,  and  the  woods  made  free. 

The  next  day  came.  Chance  brought  about  a 
meeting  between  Wat  and  the  king,  and  hot  blood 
made  it  a  tragedy.  King  Eichard  was  riding  with 
a  train  of  some  sixty  gentlemen,  among  them  Wil- 
liam Walworth,  the  mayor  of  London,  when,  by  ill 
hap,  they  came  into  contact  with  Wat  and  his  fol- 
lowers. 

"  There  is  the  king,"  said  Wat.  "  I  will  go  speak 
with  him,  and  tell  him  what  we  want." 

The  bold  leader  of  the  peasants  rode  forward  and 
confronted  the  monarch,  who  drew  rein  and  waited 
to  hear  what  he  had  to  say. 

"  King  Richard,"  said  Wat,  "  dost  thou  see  all  my 
men  there?" 

"  A)V'  said  the  king.     "  Why  ?" 

"Because,"  said  Wat,  "they  are  all  at  my  com- 
mand, and  have  sworn  to  do  whatever  I  bid  them." 

What  followed  is  not  very  clear.  Some  say  that 
Wat  laid  his  hand  on  the  king's  bridle,  others  that 
ho  fingered  his  dagger  threatimingly.  Whatever 
the  provocation,  Walworth,  the  mayor,  at  that  in- 

16 


182  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

Btaut  pressed  forward,  sword  in  hand,  and  stabbed 
the  unprotected  man  in  the  throat  before  he  could 
make  a  movement  of  defence.  He  fell  from  hia 
horse,  and  was  struck  a  death-blow  by  one  of  the 
king's  followers. 

This  rash  action  was  one  full  of  danger.  Only 
the  ready  wit  and  courage  of  the  king  saved  the 
Lves  of  his  followers, — perhaps  of  himself. 

"  Kill !  kill  I"  cried  the  furious  peasants,  "  they 
have  killed  oiir  captain." 

Bows  were  bent,  swords  drawn,  an  ominous  move- 
ment begun.  The  moment  was  a  critical  one.  The 
young  king  proved  himself  equal  to  the  occasion. 
Spurring  his  horse,  he  rode  boldly  to  the  front  of 
the  mob. 

"  "What  need  ye,  my  masters  ?"  he  cried.  "  That 
man  is  a  traitor.  I  am  your  captain  and  your  king. 
Follow  me !" 

His  words  touched  their  hearts.  With  loud  shouta 
of  loyalty  they  followed  him  to  the  Tower,  where 
he  was  met  by  his  mother  with  tears  of  joy. 

"  Rejoice  and  praise  Grod,"  the  young  king  said  to 
her ;  "  for  I  have  recovered  today  my  heritage  which 
was  lost,  and  the  realm  of  England." 

It  was  true ;  the  revolt  was  at  an  end.  The  fright- 
ened nobles  had  regained  their  courage,  and  six 
thousand  knights  were  soon  at  the  service  of  the 
king,  pressing  him  to  let  them  end  the  rebellion  with 
jiword  and  spear. 

He  refused.  His  word  had  been  passed,  and  he 
would  live  to  it — at  least,  until  the  danger  was 
passed.     The  peasants  still  in  London  received  their 


•WAT   TYLER   AND   THE   MEN   OF   KENT.  183 

charters  of  freedom  and  dispersed  to  their  homes. 
The  city  was  freed  of  the  low-born  multitude  who 
had  held  it  in  mortal  terror. 

Yot  all  was  not  ovei  Many  of  the  peasants  were 
Btill  in  arms.  Those  of  St.  Albans  were  emulated 
by  those  of  St.  Edmondsbury,  where  fifty  thousaud 
men  broke  their  way  into  the  abbey  precincts,  and 
forced  the  monks  to  gi-ant  a  charter  of  freedom  to 
the  town.  In  Norwich  a  dyer,  Littester  by  name, 
calling  himself  the  King  of  the  Commons,  forced  the 
nobles  captured  by  his  followers  to  act  as  his  meat- 
tasters,  and  serve  him  on  their  knees  during  his 
repasts.  His  reign  did  not  last  long.  The  Bishop 
of  Norwich,  with  a  following  of  knights  and  men- 
at-arms,  fell  on  his  camp  and  made  short  work  of 
his  majesty. 

The  king,  soon  forgetting  his  pledges,  led  an  army 
of  forty  thousand  men  through  Kent  and  Essex, 
and  ruthlessly  executed  the  peasant  leaders.  Some 
tifteen  hundred  of  them  were  put  to  death.  The 
peasants  resisted  stubbornly,  but  they  were  put 
down.  The  jurors  refused  to  bring  the  prisoners  in 
guilty,  until  they  were  threatened  with  execution 
themselves.  The  king  and  council,  in  the  end,  seemed 
willing  to  compi'omise  with  the  peasantry,  but  tho 
land-owners  refused  compliance.  Their  serfs  were 
their  propert}*,  they  said,  and  could  not  be  taken 
from  them  by  king  or  parliament  without  their 
consent.  "  And  this  consent,"  they  declared,  "  we 
have  never  given  and  never  will  give,  were  we  all  to 
(  «  in  one  day." 

Xct  the  revolt  of  the  peasantry  was  not  without 


184  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

its  useful  effect.  From  that  time  serfdom  died  rap- 
idly. Wages  continued  to  rise.  A  century  after  the 
Black  Death,  a  laborer's  work  in  England  "com- 
manded twice  the  amount  of  the  necessaries  of  life 
which  could  have  been  obtained  for  the  wages  paid 
under  Edward  the  Third."  In  a  century  and  a  half 
serfdom  had  almost  vanished. 

Thus  ended  the  greatest  peasant  outbreak  that 
England  ever  knew.  The  outbreak  of  Jack  Cade, 
which  took  place  seventy  years  afterwards,  was  for 
political  rather  than  industrial  reform.  During  those 
seventy  years  the  condition  of  the  working-classes 
had  greatly  improved,  and  the  occasion  for  industrial 
revolt  correspondingly  decreased. 


THE    WHITE  ROSE    OF  ENG- 
LAND. 

The  wars  of  the  White  and  the  Eed  Eoses  were  at 
an  end,  Lancaster  had  triumphed  over  York,  Eichard 
III.,  the  last  of  the  Plantagenets,  had  died  on  Bos- 
worth  field,  and  the  Eed  Eose  candidate,  Henry  YII., 
was  on  the  throne.  It  seemed  fitting,  indeed,  that 
the  party  of  the  red  should  bear  the  banners  of 
triumph,  for  the  frightful  war  of  white  and  red  had 
dohiged  England  with  blood,  and  turned  to  crimson 
the  green  of  many  a  fair  field.  Two  of  the  "White 
Eose  claimants  of  the  throne,  the  sons  of  Edward 
lY.,  had  been  imprisoned  by  Eichard  III.  in  the 
Tower  of  London,  and,  so  said  common  report,  had 
been  strangled  in  their  beds.  But  their  fate  was 
hidden  in  mystery,  and  there  were  those  who  be- 
lieved that  the  princes  of  the  Tower  still  lived. 

One  claimant  to  the  throne,  a  scion  of  the  Whit« 
Eose  kings,  Edward,  Earl  of  Warwick,  was  still 
locked  up  in  the  Tower,  so  closely  kept  from  human 
sight  and  knowledge  as  to  leave  the  field  open  to  the 
claims  of  imposture.  For  suddenly  a  handsome 
youth  appeared  in  Ireland  declaring  that  he  was  the 
Earl  of  Warwick,  escaped  from  the  Tower,  and  ask- 
ing aid  to  help  him  regain  the  throne,  which  he 
16*  185 


186  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

claimed  as  rightfully  his.  The  story  of  this  boy  is  a 
short  one ;  the  end  of  his  career  fortunately  a  comedy 
instead  of  a  tragedy.  In  Ireland  were  many  adhei-- 
ents  of  the  house  of  York.  The  story  of  the  hand- 
some lad  was  believed ;  he  was  crowned  at  Dublin, — 
the  crown  being  taken  from  the  head  of  a  statue  of 
the  Virgin  Mary, — and  was  then  carried  home  on 
the  shoulders  of  a  gigantic  Irish  chieftain,  as  was 
the  custom  in  green  Erin  in  those  days. 

The  youthful  claimant  had  entered  Ireland  with  a 
following  of  two  thousand  German  soldiers,  provided 
by  Margaret,  Duchess  of  Burgundy,  sister  of  Edward 
IV.,  who  hated  Henry  VII.  and  all  the  party  of 
Lancaster  with  an  undying  hatred.  From  Ireland 
he  invaded  England,  with  an  Irish  following  added 
to  his  German.  His  small  army  was  mot  by  the 
king  with  an  overpowering  force,  half  of  it  killed, 
the  rest  scattered,  and  the  young  impostor  taken 
captive. 

Henry  was  almost  the  first  king  of  Norman  Eng- 
land who  was  not  cruel  by  instinct.  He  could  be 
cruel  enough  by  calculation,  but  he  was  not  disposed 
to  take  life  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  killing.  He 
knew  this  boy  to  be  an  impostor,  since  Edward,  Earl 
of  Warwick,  was  still  in  the  Tower.  The  astute  king 
deemed  it  wiser  to  make  him  a  laughing-stock  than 
a  martj-r.  He  made  inquiry  as  to  his  origin.  The 
boy  proved  to  be  the  son  of  a  baker  of  Oxford,  his 
true  name  Lambert  Simnel.  He  had  been  tutored 
to  play  the  prince  by  an  ambitious  priest  named 
Simons.  This  priest  was  shut  up  in  prison,  and  died 
there.      As  for  his  pupil,  the  king  contemptuously 


THE   WHITE   ROSE   OF  ENGLAND.  187 

eeut  him  into  his  kitchen,  and  condemned  him  to  the 
servile  office  of  turnspit.  Afterwards,  as  young 
Simnel  showed  some  intelligence  and  loyalty,  he  was 
made  one  of  the  king's  falconers.  And  so  ended 
the  story  of  this  sham  Plantagenct. 

Hardly  had  this  ambitious  boy  been  set  to  the 
humble  work  of  turning  a  spit  in  the  king's  kitchen, 
when  a  new  claimant  of  the  crown  appeared, — a 
far  more  dangerous  one.  It  is  his  story  to  which 
that  of  Lambert  Simnel  serves  as  an  amusing  pre- 
lude. 

On  one  fine  day  in  the  year  1492 — Columbus  being 
then  on  his  way  to  the  discovery  of  America — there 
landed  at  Cork,  in  a  vessel  hailing  from  Portugal,  a 
young  man  very  handsome  in  face,  and  very  winning 
in  manners,  who  lost  no  time  in  presenting  himself 
to  some  of  the  leading  Irish  and  telling  them  that 
ho  was  Richard,  Duke  of  York,  the  second  son  of 
Edward  lY.  This  story  some  of  his  hearers  were 
not  ready  to  believe.  They  had  just  passed  through 
an  experience  of  the  same  kind. 

"  That  cannot  be,"  they  said  ;  "  the  sons  of  King 
Edward  were  murdered  by  their  uncle  in  the  Tower." 

"  People  think  so,  I  admit,"  said  the  young  stranger. 
"My  brother  was  murdered  there,  foully  killed  in 
that  dark  prison.  But  I  escaped,  and  for  seven  years 
have  been  wandering." 

The  boy  had  an  easy  and  engaging  manner,  a 
fluent  tongue,  and  told  so  well-devised  and  probable 
a  story  of  the  manner  of  his  escape,  that  he  had 
little  difficulty  in  persuading  his  credulous  hearern 
that  he  was  indeed  Prince  Eichard.    Soon  he  had  a 


188  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

party  at  his  back,  Cork  shouted  itself  hoarse  in  ii  s 
favor,  there  was  banqueting  and  drinking,  and  in 
this  humble  fashion  the  cause  of  the  White  Eose 
was  resuscitated,  the  banners  of  York  were  again 
flung  to  the  winds. 

A^e  have  begun  our  story  in  the  middle.  We  must 
go  back  to  its  beginning.  Margaret  of  Burgundy, 
whose  hatred  for  the  Lancastrian  king  was  intense, 
had  spread  far  and  wide  the  rumor  that  Eichard, 
Duke  of  York,  was  still  alive.  The  story  was  that 
the  villains  employed  by  Eichard  III,  to  murder  the 
princes  in  the  Tower,  had  killed  the  elder  only.  Ee- 
morse  had  stricken  their  hardened  souls,  and  com- 
passion induced  them  to  spare  the  younger,  and 
privately  to  set  him  at  liberty,  he  being  bidden  on 
peril  of  Hfe  not  to  divulge  who  he  really  was.  This 
seed  well  sown,  the  astute  duchess  laid  her  plans  to 
bring  it  to  fruitage.  A  handsome  youth  was  brought 
into  her  presence,  a  quick-witted,  intelligent,  crafty 
lad,  with  nimble  tongue  and  unusually  taking  man- 
ners. Such,  at  least,  was  the  story  set  afloat  by 
Henry  VII.,  which  goes  on  to  say  that  the  duchess 
kept  her  protege  concealed  until  she  had  taught  him 
thoroughly  the  whole  story  of  the  murdered  prince, 
instructed  him  in  behavior  suitable  to  his  assumed 
birth,  and  filled  his  memory  with  dotailsof  the  boy's 
life,  and  certain  secrets  he  would  be  likely  to  know, 
while  advising  him  how  to  avoid  certain  awkward 
questions  that  might  be  asked.  The  boy  was  quick 
to  learn  his  lesson,  the  hope  of  becoming  king  of 
England  inciting  his  naturally  keen  wit.  This  done, 
the  duchess  sent  him  privately  to  Portugal,  knowing 


THE   WHITE  ROSE   OF   ENGLAND.  189 

well  tliat  if  bi.s  advent  could  be  traced  to  her  house 
Buspicion  would  be  aroused. 

This  is  the  narrative  that  has  been  transmitted  to 
us,  but  it  is  one  which,  it  must  be  acknowledged,  has 
come  through  suspicious  channels,  as  will  appear  in 
the  sequel.  But  whatever  be  the  facts,  it  is  certain 
that  about  this  time  Henry  VII.  declared  war  against 
France,  and  that  the  war  had  not  made  much  prog- 
ress before  the  j'outh  described  sailed  from  Portugal 
and  landed  in  Cork,  where  he  claimed  to  be  Eichard, 
Duke  of  York,  and  the  true  heir  of  the  English 
throne. 

And  now  began  a  most  romantic  and  adventurous 
career.  The  story  of  the  advent  of  a  prince  of  the 
house  of  York  in  Ireland  made  its  way  through 
England  and  France.  Henry  VII.  was  just  then  too 
busy  with  his  French  war  to  attend  to  his  new  rival ; 
but  Charles  VIII.  of  France  saw  here  an  opportunity 
of  annoying  his  enem}-.  He  accordingly  sent  envoj^s 
to  Cork,  with  an  invitation  to  the  youth  to  seek  his 
court,  where  he  would  be  acknowledged  as  the  true 
heir  to  the  royal  crown  of  England. 

The  astute  young  man  lost  no  time  in  accepting 
the  invitation.  Charles  received  him  with  as  much 
honor  as  though  he  were  indeed  a  king,  appointed  him 
a  body-guard,  and  spread  far  and  wide  the  statement 
that  the  Duke  of  York,  the  rightful  heir  of  the 
English  crown,  was  at  his  court,  and  that  he  would 
sustain  his  claim.  What  might  have  come  of  this, 
had  the  war  continued,  we  cannot  say.  A  number 
of  noble  Englishmen,  friends  of  York,  made  their 
way  to  Paris,  and  became  beUevors  in  the  story  of 


190  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

the  young  adventurer.  But  the  hopes  of  the  an- 
pirant  in  this  quarter  came  to  an  end  with  the  end- 
ing of  the  war.  Charles's  secret  purpose  had  been 
to  force  Henry  to  conclude  a  peace,  and  in  this  ho 
succeeded.  He  had  now  no  further  use  for  his  young 
protege.  He  had  sufficient  honor  not  to  deliver  him 
into  Henry's  hands,  as  he  was  asked  to  do ;  but  ho 
set  him  adrift  from  his  own  court,  bidding  him  to 
seek  his  fortune  elsewhere. 

From  France  the  young  aspirant  made  his  way 
into  Flanders,  and  presented  himself  at  the  court  of 
the  Duchess  of  Burgundy,  with  every  appearance 
of  never  having  been  there  before.  He  sought  her, 
he  said,  as  his  aunt.  The  duchess  received  him  with 
an  air  of  doubt  and  suspicion.  He  was,  she  acknowl- 
edged, the  image  of  her  dear  departed  brother,  but 
more  evidence  was  needed.  She  questioned  him, 
therefore,  closely,  before  the  members  of  her  court, 
making  searching  inquiries  into  his  earlier  life  and 
recollections.  These  he  answered  so  satisfactorily 
that  the  duchess  declared  herself  transported  with 
astonishment  and  joy,  and  vowed  that  he  was  indeed 
her  nephew,  miraculously  delivered  from  prison, 
brought  from  death  to  life,  wonderfully  preserved  by 
destiny  for  some  great  fortune.  She  was  not  alone 
in  this  belief.  All  who  heard  his  answers  agreed 
with  her,  many  of  them  borne  away  by  his  grace  of 
person  and  manner  and  the  fascination  of  his  address. 
The  duchess  declared  his  identity  beyond  doubt,  did 
him  honor  as  a  born  prince,  gave  him  a  body-guard 
of  thirty  halberdiers,  who  were  clad  in  a  livery  of 
murrey  and  blue,  and  called  him  by  the  taking  title 


THE   WHITE   ROSE  OP   ENGLAND.  191 

of  the  "  White  Rose  of  England."  He  seemed,  indeed, 
like  one  risen  from  the  grave  to  set  afloat  once  more 
the  banners  of  the  White  Rose  of  York. 

The  tidings  of  what  was  doing  in  Flanders  quickly 
reached  England,  where  a  party  in  favor  of  the  as- 
pirant's pretensions  slowly  grew  up.  Several  noble- 
inon  joined  it,  discontent  having  been  caused  by  cer- 
tain unpopular  acts  of  the  king.  Sir  Robert  ClitFord 
sailed  to  Flanders,  visited  Margaret's  court,  and  wrote 
back  to  England  that  there  was  no  doubt  that  the 
young  man  was  the  Duke  of  York,  whose  person  he 
knew  as  well  as  he  knew  his  own. 

While  these  events  were  fomenting,  secretly  and 
openly.  King  Henry  was  at  work,  secretly  and  openly, 
to  disconcert  his  foes.  He  set  a  guard  upon  the 
English  ports,  that  no  suspicious  person  should  enter 
or  leave  the  kingdom,  and  then  put  his  wits  to  task 
to  prove  the  falsity  of  the  whole  neatly- wrought  tale. 
Two  of  those  concerned  in  the  murder  of  the  princes 
were  still  alive, — Sir  James  Tirrel  and  John  Dighton. 
Sir  James  claimed  to  have  stood  at  the  stair-foot, 
while  Dighton  and  another  did  the  mui'der,  smother- 
ing the  princes  in  their  bed.  To  this  they  both  testi- 
fied, though  the  king,  for  reasons  unexplained,  did 
not  publish  their  testimony. 

Henry  also  sent  spies  abroad,  to  search  into  the 
truth  concerning  the  assumed  adventurer.  These, 
being  well  supplied  with  money,  and  bidden  to  trace 
every  movement  of  the  youth,  at  length  declared 
that  thc}^  had  discovered  that  he  was  the  son  of  a 
Flemish  merchant,  of  the  city  of  Tournay,  his  name 
Perkiu  Warbeck,  his  knowledge  of  the  language  and 


192  niSTORICAL   TALES. 

manners  of  England  having  been  derived  from  the 
English  traders  in  Flanders.  This  information,  with 
much  to  support  it,  was  set  afloat  in  England,  and  the 
king  then  demanded  of  the  Archduke  Philip,  sover- 
eign of  Burgundy,  that  he  should  give  up  this  pre- 
tender, or  banish  him  from  his  court.  Philip  replied 
that  Burgundy  was  the  domain  of  the  duchess,  who 
was  mistress  in  her  own  land.  In  revenge,  Henry 
closed  all  commercial  communication  between  the 
two  countries,  taking  from  Antwerp  its  profitable 
market  in  English  cloth. 

Now  tragedy  followed  comedy.  Sir  Eobert  Clif 
ford,  who  had  declared  the  boy  to  be  undoubtedly 
the  Duke  of  York,  suffered  the  king  to  convince  him 
that  he  was  mistaken,  and  denounced  several  noble- 
men as  being  secretly  friends  to  Perkin  Warbeck. 
These  were  arrested,  and  three  of  them  beheaded, 
one  of  them.  Sir  William  Stanley,  having  saved 
Henry's  life  on  Bos  worth  Field.  But  he  was  rich, 
and  a  seizure  of  his  estate  would  swell  the  royal  cof- 
fers. With  Henry  VII.  gold  weighed  heavier  than 
gratitude. 

For  three  years  all  was  quiet.  Perkin  War- 
beck  kejit  his  princely  state  at  the  court  of  the 
Duchess  of  Burgundy,  and  the  merchants  of  Flanders 
Buffered  heavily  from  the  closure  of  the  trade  of 
Antwerp.  This  grew  intolerable.  The  people  were 
indignant.  Something  must  be  done.  The  pretended 
prince  must  leave  Flanders,  or  he  ran  risk  of  being 
killed  by  its  inhabitants. 

The  adventurous  youth  was  thus  obliged  to  leave 
his  refuge  at  Margaret's  court,  and  now  entered 


THE   WHITE    ROSE   OF   ENGLAND.  193 

npon  a  more  active  career.  Accompanied  by  a  few 
hundred  men,  he  sailed  from  Flanders  and  huided 
on  the  English  coast  at  Deal.  lie  hoped  for  a  risirg 
in  his  behalf.  On  the  contrary,  the  country-people 
rose  against  him,  killed  many  of  his  followers,  and 
took  a  hundred  and  fifty  prisoners.  These  were  all 
hanged,  by  order  of  the  king,  along  the  sea-shore,  as 
a  warning  to  any  others  who  might  wish  to  invade 
England. 

Flanders  was  closed  against  the  pretender.  Ire- 
land was  similarly  closed,  for  Henry  had  gained  the 
Irish  to  his  side.  Scotland  remained,  there  being 
hostility  between  the  English  and  Scottish  kings. 
Hither  the  fugitive  made  his  way.  James  lY.  of 
Scotland  gave  him  a  most  encouraging  reception, 
called  him  cousin,  and  in  a  short  time  married  him 
to  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  charming  ladies  of 
his  court,  Lady  Catharine  Gordon,  a  relative  of  the 
royal  house  of  the  Stuarts. 

For  a  time  now  the  fortxmes  of  the  young  aspirant 
improved.  Henry,  alarmed  at  his  progress,  sought  by 
bribery  of  the  Scottish  lords  to  have  him  delivered 
into  his  hands.  In  this  he  failed;  James  was  foith- 
ful  to  his  word.  Soon  Perkin  had  a  small  army  at 
his  back.  The  Duchess  of  Burgundy  provided  him 
with  men,  money,  and  arms,  till  in  a  short  time  he 
had  fifteen  hundred  good  soldiers  under  his  com- 
mand. 

"With  those,  and  with  the  aid  of  King  James  of 
Scotland,  who  reinforced  his  army  and  accompanied 
him  in  person,  he  crossed  the  border  into  England, 
and    issued   a  proclamation,   calhng    himself  King 

II.— I  71  17 


194  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Eichard  tlie  Fourth,  and  offering  large  rewards  to 
any  one  who  should  take  or  distress  Henry  Tudor, 
as  he  called  the  king. 

Unluckily  for  the  young  invader,  the  people  of 
England  had  had  enough  of  civil  war.  White  Eose 
or  Eed  Eose  had  become  of  less  importance  to  them 
than  peace  and  prosperity.  They  refused  to  rise  in 
his  support,  and  quickly  grew  to  hate  his  soldiers, 
who,  being  of  different  nations,  most  of  them  brig- 
andish soldiers  of  fortune,  began  by  quarrelling  with 
one  another,  and  ended  by  plundering  the  country. 

"  This  is  shameful,"  said  Perkin.  "  I  am  not  here 
to  distress  tbe  English  people.  Eather  than  fill  the 
country  with  misery,  I  will  lose  my  rights." 

King  James  laughed  at  his  scruples,  giving  him  to 
understand  that  no  true  king  would  stop  for  such 
a  trifle.  But  Perkin  was  resolute,  and  the  army 
marched  back  again  into  Scotland  without  fighting 
a  battle.  The  White  Eose  had  shown  himself  unfit 
for  kingship  in  those  days.  He  was  so  weak  as  to 
have  compassion  for  the  people,  if  that  was  the  true 
cause  of  his  retreat. 

This  invasion  had  one  unlooked-for  result.  The 
people  had  been  heavily  taxed  by  Henry,  in  prep- 
aration for  the  expected  war.  In  consequence  the 
men  of  Cornwall  rose  in  rebellion.  With  Flammock, 
a  lawyer,  and  Joseph,  a  blacksmith,  at  their  head, 
they  marched  eastward  through  England  until  within 
sight  of  London,  being  joined  by  Lord  Audley  and 
some  other  country  gentlemen  on  their  route.  The 
king  met  and  defeated  them,  though  they  fought 
fiercely.      Lord  Audley  was   beheaded,  Flammock 


THE   WHITE   KOSE   OP   ENGLAND.  195 

and  Joseph  were  hanged,  the  rest  were  pardoned. 
And  80  ended  this  threatening  insurrection. 

It  was  of  no  advantage  to  the  wandering  "White 
Eose.  He  soon  had  to  leave  Scotland,  peace  having 
been  made  between  the  two  kings.  James,  like 
Charles  VIII.  before  him,  was  honorable  and  would 
not  give  him  up,  but  required  him  to  leave  his  king- 
dom. Perkin  and  bis  beautiful  wife,  who  clung  to 
him  with  true  love,  set  sail  for  Ireland.  For  a  third 
time  he  had  been  driven  from  shelter. 

In  Ireland  he  found  no  support.  The  people  had 
become  friendly  to  the  king,  and  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with  the  wandering  White  Eose.  As  a  forlorn 
hope,  he  sailed  for  Cornwall,  trusting  that  the  stout 
Cornish  men,  who  had  just  struck  so  fierce  a  blow 
for  their  rights,  might  gather  to  his  support.  With 
him  went  his  wife,  clinging  with  unyielding  faith  and 
love  to  his  waning  fortunes. 

He  landed  at  Whitsand  Bay,  on  the  coast  of  Corn- 
wall, issued  a  proclamation  under  the  title  of  Ivichard 
the  Fourth  of  England,  and  quickly  found  himself 
in  command  of  a  small  army  of  Cornishmen.  His 
wife  he  left  in  the  castle  of  St.  Michael's  Mount,  as 
a  place  of  safety,  and  at  the  head  of  three  thousand 
men  marched  into  Devonshire.  By  the  time  he 
reached  Exeter  he  had  six  thousand  men  under  his 
command.  They  besieged  Exeter,  but  learning  that 
the  king  was  on  the  march,  they  raised  the  siege, 
and  advanced  until  Taunton  was  reached,  when  they 
found  themselves  in  front  of  the  king's  army. 

The  Cornishmen  were  brave  and  ready.  They 
were  poorly  armed  and  outnumbered,  but  battle  waa 


196  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

their  only  thought.  Such  was  not  the  thought  of 
their  leader.  For  the  first  time  in  his  career  he  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  a  hostile  army.  He  could 
plot,  could  win  friends  by  his  engaging  manners, 
could  do  anything  but  fight.  But  now  that  the 
critical  moment  had  come  he  found  that  he  lacked 
courage.  Perhaps  this  had  as  much  as  compassion 
to  do  with  his  former  retreat  to  Scotland.  It  is 
certain  that  the  sight  of  grim  faces  and  brandished 
arms  before  him  robbed  his  heart  of  its  bravery. 
Mounting  a  swift  horse,  ho  fled  in  the  night,  followed 
by  about  threescore  others.  In  the  morning  his 
men  found  themselves  without  a  leader.  Having 
nothing  to  fight  for,  they  surrendered.  Some  few  of 
the  more  desperate  of  them  were  hanged.  The 
others  were  pardoned  and  permitted  to  return. 

No  sooner  was  the  discovery  made  that  the  "White 
Ptose  had  taken  to  the  winds  than  horsemen  were 
sent  in  speedy  pursuit,  one  troop  being  sent  to  St. 
Michael's  Mount  to  seize  the  Lady  Catharine,  and  a 
second  troop  of  five  hundred  horse  to  pursue  the 
fugitive  pretender,  and  take  him,  if  possible,  before 
he  could  reach  the  sanctuary  of  Beaulieu,  in  the 
Kew  Forest,  whither  be  had  fled.  The  lady  was 
quickly  brought  before  the  king.  Whether  or  not  he 
meant  to  deal  harshly  with  her,  the  sight  of  her 
engaging  face  moved  him  to  compassion  and  admira- 
tion. She  was  so  beautiful,  bore  so  high  a  reputa- 
tion for  goodness,  and  was  so  lovingly  devoted  to 
her  husband,  that  the  king  was  disarmed  of  any  ill 
purposes  he  may  have  entertained,  and  treated  her 
with  the  highest  respect  and  consideration.     In  the 


THE   WHITE   ROSE  OF   ENGLAND.  197 

end  he  gave  her  an  allowance  suitable  to  her  rank, 
placed  hor  at  court  near  the  queen's  person,  and 
continued  her  friend  during  life.  Years  after,  when 
the  story  of  Perkin  Warbeck  had  almost  become  a 
nursery-tale,  the  Lady  Catharine  was  still  called  by 
the  people  the  "  White  Rose,"  as  a  tribute  to  her 
beauty  and  her  romantic  history. 

As  regards  the  fugitive  and  his  followers,  they 
succeeded  in  reaching  Beaulieu  and  taking  sanc- 
tuury.  The  pursuers,  who  had  failed  to  overtake 
them,  could  only  surround  the  sanctuary  and  wait 
orders  from  the  king.  The  astute  Henry  pursued 
his  usual  course,  employing  policy  instead  of  force. 
Perkin  was  coaxed  out  of  his  retreat,  on  promise  of 
good  treatment  if  he  should  surrender,  and  was 
brought  up  to  London,  guarded,  but  not  bound. 
Henry,  who  was  curious  to  see  him,  contrived  to  do 
so  from  a  window,  screening  himself  while  closely 
observing  his  rival. 

London  reached,  the  cavalcade  became  a  proces- 
sion, the  captive  being  led  through  the  principal 
streets  for  the  edification  of  the  populace,  before 
being  taken  to  the  Tower.  The  king  had  little  rea- 
son to  fear  him.  The  pretended  prince,  who  had 
run  away  from  his  army,  was  not  likely  to  obtain 
new  adherents.  Scorn  and  contempt  were  the  only 
manifestations  of  popular  opinion. 

So  little,  indeed,  did  Henry  dread  this  aspirant  to 
the  throne,  that  he  was  quickly  released  from  the 
Tower  and  brought  to  Westminster,  where  he  was 
treated  as  a  gentleman,  being  examined  from  time 
to  time  regarding  his  imposture.  Such  parts  of  his 
17* 


198  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

confession  as  the  king  saw  fit  to  divulge  were  printed 
and  spread  through  the  country,  but  were  of  a  nature 
not  likely  to  settle  the  difficulty,  "  Men  missing  of 
that  they  looked  for,  looked  about  for  they  knew 
not  what,  and  were  more  in  doubt  than  before,  but 
the  king  chose  rather  not  to  satisfy,  than  to  kindle 
coals." 

Perkin  soon  brought  the  king's  complaisance  to 
an  end.  His  mercurial  disposition  counselled  flight, 
and,  deceiving  his  guards,  he  slipped  from  the  palace 
and  fled  to  the  sea-shore.  Here  he  found  all  avenues 
of  escape  closed,  and  so  diligent  was  the  pursuit  that 
he  quickly  turned  back,  and  again  took  sanctuary  in 
Bethlehem  priory,  near  Eichmond.  The  prior  came 
to  the  king  and  offered  to  deliver  him  up,  asking  for 
his  life  only.  His  escapade  had  roused  anger  in  the 
court. 

"Take  the  rogue  and  hang  him  forthwith,"  was 
the  hot  advice  of  the  king's  council. 

"The  silly  boy  is  not  worth  a  rope,"  answered  the 
king.  "  Take  the  knave  and  set  him  in  the  stocks. 
Let  the  people  see  what  sort  of  a  prince  this  is." 

Life  being  promised,  the  prior  brought  forth  his 
charge,  and  a  few  days  after  Perkin  was  set  in  the 
stocks  for  a  whole  day,  in  the  palace-court  at  West- 
minster. The  next  day  he  was  served  in  the  same 
manner  at  Cbeapside,  in  both  places  being  forced  to 
read  a  paper  which  pui-ported  to  be  a  true  and  full 
confession  of  his  imposture.  From  Cheapsido  he 
was  taken  to  the  Tower,  having  exhausted  the  mercy 
of  the  king. 

In  the  Tower  he  was  placed  in  the  company  of 


THE   WHITE   ROSE  OP   ENGLAND.  199 

the  Earl  of  "Warwick,  the  last  of  the  acknowledged 
Plantagenets,  who  had  been  in  this  gloomy  prison 
for  fourteen  years.  It  is  suspected  that  the  king 
had  a  dark  purpose  in  this.  To  the  one  he  had 
promised  life ;  the  other  he  had  no  satisfactory  rea- 
son to  remove ;  possibly  he  fancied  that  the  uneasy 
temper  of  Perkin  would  give  him  an  excuse  for  the 
execution  of  both. 

If  such  was  his  scheme,  it  worked  well.  Perkin 
had  not  been  long  in  the  Tower  before  the  quick- 
silver of  his  nature  began  to  declare  itself.  His  in- 
sinuating address  gained  him  the  favor  of  his  keep- 
ers, whom  he  soon  began  to  offer  lofty  bi'ibes  to  aid 
his  escape.  Into  this  plot  he  managed  to  draw  the 
young  earl.  The  plan  devised  was  that  the  four 
keepers  should  murder  the  lieutenant  of  the  Tower 
in  the  night,  seize  the  keys  and  such  money  as  they 
could  find,  and  let  out  Perkin  and  the  earl. 

It  may  be  that  the  king  himself  had  arranged 
this  plot,  and  instructed  the  keepers  in  their  parts. 
Certainly  it  was  quickly  divulged.  And  by  strange 
chance,  just  at  this  period  a  third  pretender  appeared, 
this  time  a  shoemaker's  son,  who,  like  the  baker's 
son,  pretended  to  be  the  Earl  of  Warwick.  His 
name  was  Ealjjh  Wilford.  He  had  been  taught  his 
part  by  a  priest  named  Patrick.  They  came  from 
Suffolk  and  advanced  into  Kent,  where  the  priest 
took  to  the  pulpit  to  advocate  the  claims  of  his 
charge.  Both  were  quickly  taken,  the  youth  exe- 
cuted, the  priest  imprisoned  for  life. 

And  now  Henry  doubtless  deemed  that  matters 
of  this  kind  had  gone  far  enough.    The  earl  and  his 


200  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

fellow-prisoner  were  indicted  for  conspiracy,  tried 
and  found  guilty,  the  earl  beheaded  on  Tower  Hill, 
and  Perkin  Warbeck  hanged  at  Tyburn.  This  was 
in  the  year  1499.  It  formed  a  dramatic  end  to  the 
history  of  the  fifteenth  century,  being  the  closing 
event  in  the  wars  of  the  White  and  the  Red  Eoses, 
the  death  of  the  last  Plantagenet  and  of  the  last 
White  Rose  aspirant  to  the  throne. 

In  conclusion,  the  question  may  be  asked.  Who 
was  Perkin  Warbeck?  All  we  know  of  him  is  the 
story  set  afloat  by  Henry  VII.,  made  up  of  accounts 
told  by  his  spies  and  a  confession  wrested  from  a 
boy  threatened  with  death.  That  he  was  taught  his 
part  by  Margaret  of  Burgundy  we  have  only  this 
evidence  for  warrant.  He  was  publicly  acknowl- 
edged by  this  lady,  the  sister  of  Edward  IV.,  was 
married  by  James  of  Scotland  to  a  lady  of  royal 
blood,  was  favorably  received  by  many  English 
lords,  and  at  least  a  doubt  remains  whether  he  was 
not  truly  the  jirincely  person  he  declared  himself 
However  that  be,  his  story  is  a  highly  romantic  one, 
and  forms  a  picturesque  closing  scene  to  the  long 
drama  of  the  Wars  of  the  Roses. 


THE  FIELD  OF  THE  CLOTH  OF 
GOLD. 

It  was  the  day  fixed  for  the  opening  of  the  most 
brilliant  pageant  known  to  modern  history.  On  the 
green  space  in  front  of  the  dilapidated  castle  of 
Guisnes,  on  the  soil  of  France,  but  within  what  was 
known  as  the  English  pale,  stood  a  summer  palace 
of  the  amplest  proportions  and  the  most  gorgeous 
decorations,  which  was  furnished  within  with  all 
that  comfort  demanded  and  art  and  luxury  could 
provide.  Let  us  briefly  describe  this  magnificent 
palace,  which  had  been  prepared  for  the  temporary 
residence  of  the  English  king. 

The  building  was  of  wood,  square  in  shape,  each 
side  being  three  hundred  and  twenty-eight  feet  long. 
On  every  side  were  oriel-windows  and  curiously 
glazed  clerestories,  whose  mullions  and  posts  were 
overlaid  with  gold.  In  front  of  the  grand  entrance 
stood  an  embattled  gate-way,  having  on  each  side 
statues  of  warriors  in  martial  attitudes.  From  the 
gate  to  the  palace  sloped  upward  a  long  passage, 
flanked  with  images  in  bright  armor  and  presenting 
"sore  and  terrible  countenances."  This  led  to  an 
embowered  landing-place,  where,  fanng  the  great 
doors,  stood  antique  figures  girt  with  olive-branches. 

201 


202  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Interiorly  the  palace  halls  and  chambers  were 
superbly  decorated,  white  silk  forming  the  ceilings 
of  the  passages  and  galleries,  from  which  depended 
silken  hangings  of  various  colors  and  braided  cloths, 
"  which  showed  like  bullions  of  fine  braided  gold." 
Eoses  set  in  lozenges,  on  a  golden  ground-work, 
formed  the  chamber  ceilings.  The  wall  spaces  were 
decorated  with  richly  carved  and  gilt  panels,  while 
embroidered  silk  tapestry  hung  from  the  windows 
and  formed  the  walls  of  the  corridors.  In  the  state 
apartments  the  furniture  was  of  princely  richness, 
the  whole  domains  of  art  and  industry  having  been 
ransacked  to  provide  their  most  splendid  belongings. 
Exteriorly  the  building  presented  an  equally  ornate 
appearance,  glass,  gold-work,  and  ornamental  hang- 
ings quite  concealing  the  carpentry,  so  that  "every 
quarter  of  it,  even  the  least,  was  a  habitation  fit  for 
a  prince." 

To  what  end,  in  the  now  far-away  year  of  1520, 
and  in  that  rural  locality,  under  the  shadows  of  a 
castle  which  had  fallen  into  irredeemable  ruin,  had 
such  an  edifice  been  built, — one  which  only  the 
revenues  of  a  kingdom,  in  that  day,  could  have 
erected?  Its  purpose  was  a  worthy  one.  France 
and  England,  whose  intercourse  for  centuries  had 
been  one  of  war,  were  now  to  meet  in  peace.  Crecy 
and  Agincourt  had  been  the  last  meeting-places  of 
tbe  monarchs  of  these  kingdoms,  and  death  and  ruin 
bad  followed  their  encounters.  Now  Henry  the 
Eighth  of  England  and  Francis  the  First  of  France 
were  to  meet  in  peace  and  amity,  spending  the  reve- 
nues of  their  kingdoms  not  for  armor  of  linked  mail 


THE    FIELD   OF   TUE   CLOXn    OF   GOLD.  203 

and  death-dealing  weapons,  but  for  splendid  attire 
and  richest  pageantry,  in  token  of  friendship  and 
fraternity  between  the  two  reahns. 

A  century  had  greatly  changed  the  relations  of 
England  and  France.  In  1420  Henry  V.  had  re- 
cently won  the  great  victor}'-  of  Agincourt,  and 
France  lay  almost  prostrate  at  his  feet.  In  1520  the 
English  possessions  in  France  were  confined  to  the 
seaport  of  Calais  and  a  small  district  around  it 
known  as  the  "  English  pale."  The  castle  of  Gui.sncs 
stood  just  within  the  English  border,  the  meeting 
between  the  two  monarchs  being  fixed  at  the  line  of 
separation  of  the  two  kingdoms. 

The  palace  we  have  described,  erected  for  the 
habitation  of  King  Henry  and  his  suite,  had  been 
designed  and  ordered  by  Cardinal  Wolsey,  to  whoso 
skill  in  pageantry  the  management  of  this  great 
festival  had  been  consigned.  Extensive  were  the 
preparations  alike  in  England  and  in  France.  All 
that  the  island  kingdom  could  furnish  of  splendor 
and  riches  was  pi-ovided,  not  alone  for  the  adorn 
ment  of  the  king  and  his  guard,  but  for  the  host  of 
nobles  and  the  multitude  of  persons  of  minor  estate, 
who  came  in  his  train,  the  whole  following  of  the 
king  being  nearly  four  thousand  persons,  while  more 
than  a  thousand  formed  the  escort  of  the  queen. 
For  the  use  of  this  great  company  had  been  brought 
nearly  four  thousand  riohly-ca])arisoned  horses,  with 
vast  quantities  of  the  other  essentials  of  human 
comfort  and  regal  display. 

While  England  had  been  thus  busy  in  preparing 
for  the  pageant,  France   had   been   no  less   active. 


204  HISTORICAL   TALES, 

Arde,  a  town  near  the  English  pale,  had  been  selected 
as  the  dwelling-place  of  Francis  and  his  train.  As 
for  the  splendor  of  adornment  of  those  who  followed 
him,  there  seems  to  have  been  almost  nothing  worn 
but  silks,  velvets,  cloth  of  gold  and  silver,  jewels  and 
precious  stones,  such  being  the  costliness  of  the 
display  that  a  writer  who  saw  it  humorously  says, 
*'  Many  of  the  nobles  carried  their  castles,  woods,  and 
farms  upon  their  backs." 

Magnificent  as  was  the  palace  built  for  Henry  and 
his  train,  the  arrangements  for  the  French  king  and 
his  train  were  still  more  imposing.  The  artistic 
taste  of  the  French  was  contrasted  with  the  English 
love  for  solid  grandeur,  Francis  had  proposed  that 
both  parties  should  lodge  in  tents  erected  on  the 
field,  and  in  pursuance  of  this  idea  there  had  been 
prepared  "  numerous  pavilions,  fitted  up  with  halls, 
galleries,  and  chambers  ornamented  within  and  with- 
out with  gold  and  silver  tissue.  Amidst  golden  balls 
and  quaint  devices  glittering  in  the  sun,  rose  a  gilt 
figure  of  St.  Michael,  conspicuous  for  his  blue  mantle 
powdered  with  golden  fleurs-de-lis,  and  crowning  a 
royal  pavilion  of  vast  dimensions  supported  by  a 
single  mast.  In  his  right  hand  he  held  a  dart,  in 
his  left  a  shield  emblazoned  with  the  arms  of  France. 
Inside,  the  roof  of  the  pavilion  represented  the 
canopy  of  heaven  ornamented  with  stars  and  figures 
of  the  zodiac.  The  lodgings  of  the  queen,  of  the 
Duchess  dAlenijon,  the  king's  favorite  sister,  and  of 
other  ladies  and  princes  of  the  blood,  were  covered 
with  cloth  of  gold.  The  rest  of  the  tents,  to  the 
number  of  three  or  four  hundred,  emblazoned  with 


THE   FIELD   OI    TIIE    CLOTH   OF   GOLD.  205 

tho  arms  of  their  owners,  were  pitched  on  the  banks 
of  a  small  river  outside  the  city  walls." 

Ko  less  abundant  provision  had  been  made  for  the 
residence  of  the  English  visitors.  "When  King  Henry 
looked  from  the  oriel  windows  of  his  fairy  palace, 
he  saw  before  him  a  scene  of  the  greatest  splendor 
and  the  most  incessant  activity.  The  green  space 
stretching  southward  from  the  castle  was  covered 
with  tents  of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  many  of  them 
brilliant  with  emblazonry,  while  from  their  tops 
floated  rich-colored  banners  and  pennons  in  profusion. 
Before  each  tent  stood  a  sentry,  his  lance-point  glit- 
tering like  a  jewel  in  the  rays  of  the  June  sun.  Here 
richly-caparisoned  horses  were  prancing,  there  sunip- 
ter  mules  laden  with  supplies,  and  decorated  with 
ribbons  and  flowers,  made  their  slow  way  onward. 
Everywhere  was  movement,  everywhere  seemed  glad- 
ness; meri'iment  ruled  supreme,  the  hilarity  being 
doubtless  heightened  by  frequent  visits  to  gilded 
fountains,  which  spouted  forth  claret  and  hj^pocras 
into  silver  cups  from  which  all  might  drink.  Kever 
had  been  seen  such  a  picture  in  such  a  place.  The 
splendor  of  color  and  decoration  of  the  tents,  the 
shining  armor  and  gorgeous  dresses  of  knights  and 
nobles,  the  brilliancy  of  the  military  display,  the 
glittering  and  gleaming  effect  of  the  pageant  as  a 
whole,  rendering  fitly  applicable  the  name  bj^  which 
this  royal  festival  has  since  been  known,  "  The  Field 
of  tho  Cloth  of  Gold." 

Two  leagues  separated  Ardes  and  Guisnes,  two 
leagues  throughout  which  the  spectacle  extended, 
rich  tents  and  glittering  emblazonry  occupying  tho 
18 


206  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

whole  space,  the  canvas  habitations  of  the  two  nations 
meeting  at  the  dividing-line  between  England  and 
France.  It  was  a  splendid  avenue  arranged  for  the 
movements  of  the  monarchs  of  these  two  great  king- 
doms. 

Such  was  the  scene :  what  were  the  ceremonies  ? 
They  began  with  a  grand  procession,  headed  by 
Cardinal  "Wolsey,  who,  as  representative  of  the  king 
of  England,  made  the  first  move  in  the  game  of  o? 
tentation.  Before  him  rode  fifty  gentlemen,  each 
wearing  a  great  gold  chain,  while  tlieir  horses  were 
richly  caparisoned  with  ci'imson  velvet.  His  ushers, 
fifty  other  gentlemen,  followed,  bearing  maces  of 
gold  which  at  one  end  were  as  large  as  a  man's  head. 
Next  came  a  dignitary  in  crimson  velvet,  proudly 
carrying  the  cardinal's  cross  of  gold,  adorned  with 
a  crucifix  of  precious  stones.  Four  lackeys,  attired 
in  cloth  of  gold  and  with  magnificent  plumed  bonnets 
in  their  hands,  followed.  Then  came  the  cardinal 
himself,  man  and  horse  splendidly  equipped,  his  strong 
and  resolute  face  full  of  the  pride  and  arrogance 
which  marked  his  character,  his  bearing  that  of 
almost  regal  ostentation.  After  him  followed  an 
array  of  bishops  and  other  churchmen,  while  a  hun- 
dred archers  of  the  king's  guard  completed  the  pro- 
cession. 

Reaching  Arde,  the  cardinal  dismounted  in  front 
of  the  royal  tent,  and,  in  the  stateliest  manner,  did 
homage  in  his  master's  name  to  Francis,  who  received 
him  with  a  courteous  display  of  deference  and  affec- 
tion. The  next  day  the  representatives  of  France 
returned  this  visit,  with  equal  pomp  and  parade,  and 


HENRY  THE    EIGHTH. 


THE  FIELD   OF  THE   CLOTH   OF   GOLD.  207 

With  as  kindly  a  reception  from  Henry,  while  the 
English  nobles  feasted  those  of  France  in  their  lord- 
liest fashion,  so  boisterous  being  their  hospitality 
that  they  fairly  forced  their  visitors  into  their  tents. 

These  ceremonial  preliminaries  passed,  the  meet- 
ing of  the  two  sovereigns  came  next  in  order.  Henry 
had  crossed  the  channel  to  greet  Francis;  Francis 
agreed  to  be  the  first  to  cross  the  frontier  to  greet 
him.  Juno  7  was  the  day  fixed.  On  this  day  the 
king  of  France  left  his  tent  amid  the  I'oar  of  cannon, 
and,  followed  by  a  noble  retinue  in  cloth  of  gold  and 
Bilver,  made  his  way  to  the  frontier,  where  was  set 
up  a  gorgeous  pavilion,  in  whose  decorations  the  her- 
aldi'ies  of  England  and  France  were  commingled.  In 
this  handsome  tent  the  two  monarchs  were  to  confer. 

About  the  same  time  Heniy  set  out,  riding  a 
powerful  stallion,  nobly  caparisoned.  At  the  border- 
line between  English  and  French  territory  the  two 
monarchs  halted,  facing  each  other,  each  still  on  his 
own  soil.  Deep  silence  prevailed  in  the  trains,  and 
every  eye  was  fixed  on  the  two  central  figures. 

They  were  strongly  contrasted.  Francis  was  tall 
but  rather  slight  in  figure,  and  of  delicate  features. 
Henry  was  stout  of  form,  and  massive  but  handsome 
of  face.  He  had  not  yet  attained  those  swollen  pro- 
portions of  face  and  figure  in  which  history  usually 
depicts  him.  Their  attire  was  as  splendid  as  art  and 
fashion  could  produce.  Francis  was  dressed  in  a 
mantle  of  cloth  of  gold,  which  fell  over  a  jewelled 
cassock  of  gold  frieze.  He  wore  a  bonnet  of  ruby 
velvet  enriched  with  gems,  while  the  front  and 
sleeves  of  his  mantle  were  splendid  with  diamonds. 


208  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

rubies,  emeralds,  and  "  ropes  of  pearls."  He  rode  a 
"beautiful  horse  covered  with  goldsmith's  work." 

Henry  was  dressed  in  cloth  of  silver  damask, 
studded  with  gems,  and  ribbed  with  gold  cloth,  while 
his  horse  was  gay  wiih  trappings  of  gold  embroidery 
and  mosaic  work.  Altogether  the  two  men  were  as 
splendid  in  appearance  as  gold,  silver,  jewelry,  and 
the  costliest  tissues  could  make  them, — and  as  differ- 
ent in  personal  appearance  as  two  men  of  the  same 
race  could  well  be. 

The  occasion  was  not  alone  a  notable  one,  it  was 
to  some  extent  a  critical  one.  For  centuries  the 
meetings  of  French  and  English  kings  had  beea 
hostile ;  could  they  now  be  trusted  to  be  peaceful  ? 
Might  not  the  sword  of  the  past  be  hidden  in  the 
olive-branch  of  the  present?  Suppose  the  lords  of 
France  should  seize  and  hold  captive  the  English 
king,  or  the  English  lords  act  with  like  treachery 
towards  the  French  king,  what  years  of  the  outpouring 
of  blood  and  treasure  might  follow  I  Apprehensions 
of  such  treachery  were  not  wanting.  The  followers 
of  Francis  looked  with  doubt  on  the  armed  men  in 
Henry's  escort.  The  English  courtiers  in  like  man- 
ner viewed  with  eyes  of  question  the  archers  and 
cavaliers  in  the  train  of  Francis.  Lord  Abergavenny 
ran  to  King  Henry  as  he  was  about  to  mount  for  the 
ride  to  the  French  frontier. 

"Sire,"  he  said,  anxiously,  "ye  be  my  lord  and 
sovereign  ;  wherefore,  above  all,  I  am  bound  to  show 
you  the  truth  and  not  be  let  for  none.  I  have  been 
in  the  French  party,  and  they  be  more  in  number,^ 
double  so  many  as  ye  be." 


THE    FIELD    OF   THE    CLOTH    OF    GOLD,  209 

"  Siro,"  answered  Lord  Shrewsbury,  "  whatever 
my  lord  of  Abergavenny  sayeth,  I  myself  have  been 
there,  and  the  Frenchmen  be  more  iu  fear  of  you 
and  your  subjects  than  your  subjects  be  of  thetn. 
\Vhereforc,  if  I  were  worthy  to  give  counsel,  your 
grace  should  march  forward." 

Bluff  King  Hurry  had  no  thought  of  doing  any- 
thing else.  The  doubt  which  shook  the  souls  of  some 
of  his  followers,  did  not  enter  his. 

"  So  we  intend,  my  lord,"  he  briefly  answered,  and 
rode  forward. 

For  a  moment  the  two  kings  remained  face  to  face, 
gazing  upon  one  another  in  silence.  Then  came  a 
burst  of  music,  and,  spurring  their  horses,  they  gal- 
loped forward,  and  in  an  instant  were  hand  in  hand. 
Three  times  they  embraced  ;  then,  dismounting,  they 
again  embraced,  and  walked  arm  in  arm  towards  the 
pavilion.  Brief  was  the  conference  within,  the  con- 
stables of  France  and  England  keeping  strict  ward 
outside,  with  swords  held  at  salute.  Not  till  the 
monarchs  emerged  was  the  restraint  broken.  Then 
Ilcnry  and  Francis  were  presented  to  the  dignitaries 
of  the  opposite  nation,  their  escorts  fraternized, 
barrels  of  wine  were  broached,  and  as  the  wine-cups 
were  drained  the  toast,  "  Good  fi-ieuds,  French  and 
English,"  was  cheei'ily  repeated  from  both  sides.  Tl 
nobles  were  emulated  in  this  by  their  followers,  am* 
the  good  fellowship  of  the  meeting  was  signalizeu 
by  abundant  revelry,  night  only  ending  the  merry- 
making. 

Friday,  Saturday,  and  Sunday  passed  in  exchange 
of  courtesies,  and  iu  preparations  for  the  tournament 
II.— o  IS* 


210  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

which  was  to  be  the  great  event  of  the  occasion.  On 
Sunday  afternoon  Henry  crossed  the  frontier  to  do 
homage  to  the  queen  of  France,  and  Francis  offered 
the  same  tribute  to  the  English  queen.  Henry  rode 
to  Arde  in  a  dress  that  was  heavy  with  gold  and 
jewels,  and  was  met  by  the  queen  and  her  ladies, 
whose  beauty  was  adorned  with  the  richest  gems 
and  tissues  and  the  rarest  laces  that  the  wealth  and 
taste  of  the  time  could  command.  The  principal 
event  of  the  reception  was  a  magnificent  dinner, 
whose  service  was  so  rich  and  its  viands  so  rare  and 
costly  that  the  chronicler  confesses  himself  unequal 
to  the  task  of  describing  it.  Music,  song,  and 
dancing  filled  up  the  intervals  between  the  courses, 
and  all  went  merrily  until  five  o'clock,  when  Henry 
took  his  leave,  entertaining  the  ladies  as  he  did  so 
with  an  exhibition  of  his  horsemanship,  he  making 
his  steed  to  "  bound  and  curvet  as  valiantly  as  man 
could  do."  On  his  road  home  he  met  Francis,  re- 
turning from  a  like  reception  by  the  queen  of  Eng- 
land. "  What  cheer  ?"  asked  the  two  kings  as  they 
cordially  embraced,  with  such  a  show  of  amity  that 
one  might  have  supposed  them  brothers  born. 

The  next  day  was  that  set  for  the  opening  cf  the 
tournament.  This  was  to  be  held  in  a  park  on  the 
high  ground  between  Arde  and  Guisnes,  On  each 
side  of  the  enclosed  space  long  galleries,  hung  with 
tapestry,  were  erected  for  the  spectators,  a  specially- 
adorned  box  being  prepared  for  the  two  queens.  Tri- 
umphal  arches  marked  each  entrance  to  the  lists,  at 
which  stood  French  and  English  archers  on  guard. 
At  the  foot  of  the  lists  was  erected  the  "  tree  of 


THE   FIELD   OP  THE   CLOTH   OP   GOLD.  211 

noblesse,"  on  which  were  to  be  hung  the  shields  of 
those  about  to  engage  in  combat.  It  bore  "  the  noble 
thorn  [the  sign  of  Henry]  entwined  with  raspberry" 
[the  sign  of  Francis] ;  around  its  trunk  was  wound 
cloth  of  gold  and  green  damask ;  its  leaves  were 
formed  of  green  silk,  and  the  fruit  that  hung  from 
its  limbs  was  made  of  silver  and  Venetian  gold. 

Uenry  and  Francis,  each  supported  hy  some  eigh- 
teen of  their  noblest  subjects,  designed  to  hold  the 
lists  against  all  comers,  it  being,  however,  strictly 
enjoined  that  sharp-pointed  weapons  should  not  be 
used,  lest  serious  accidents,  as  in  times  past,  might 
take  place.  Various  other  rules  were  made,  of  which 
we  shall  only  name  that  which  required  the  challenger 
who  was  worsted  in  any  combat  to  give  "  a  gold  token 
to  the  lady  in  whose  cause  the  comer  fights." 

Shall  we  tell  the  tale  of  this  show  of  mimic  war? 
Splendid  it  was,  and,  unlike  the  tournaments  of  an 
older  date,  harmless.  The  lists  were  nine  hundred 
feet  long  and  three  hundred  and  twenty  broad,  the 
galleries  bordering  them  being  magnificent  with  their 
hosts  of  richlj'-attired  lords  and  ladies  and  the  vari- 
colored dresses  of  the  archers  and  others  of  lesser 
blood.  For  two  days,  Monday  and  Thursday.  Henry 
and  Francis  held  the  lists.  In  this  sport  Uenry  dis- 
plaj^ed  the  skill  and  prowess  of  a  true  warrior. 
Francis  could  scarcely  wield  the  swords  which  his 
brother  king  swept  in  circles  around  his  head.  "When 
he  spurred,  with  couched  lance,  upon  an  antagonist, 
his  ease  and  grace  aroused  the  plaudits  of  the  spec- 
tators, which  became  enthusiastic  as  saddle  aftoT 
saddle  was  emptied  by  the  vigor  of  his  thrust. 


212  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Next  to  Henry  in  strength  and  prowess  was 
Charles  Brandon,  Duke  of  Suffolk,  who  vied  with 
the  king  for  the  honors  of  the  field.  "  The  king  of 
England  and  Suffolk  did  marvels,"  says  the  chron- 
icler. On  the  days  when  the  monarchs  did  not 
appear  in  the  field  lesser  knights  strove  for  the  hon- 
ors of  the  joust,  wrestling-matches  helped  to  amuse 
the  multitude  of  spectators,  and  the  antics  of  mum- 
mers wound  up  the  sports  of  the  day.  Only  once  did 
Henry  and  Francis  come  into  friendly  contest.  Thif« 
was  in  a  wrestling-match,  from  which  the  French 
king,  to  the  surprise  of  the  spectators,  carried  off 
the  honors.  By  a  clever  twist  of  the  wrestler's  art, 
he  managed  to  throw  his  burly  brother  king.  Henry's 
face  was  red  with  the  hot  Tudor  blood  when  he 
rose,  his  temper  had  been  lost  in  his  fall,  and  there 
was  anger  in  the  tone  in  which  he  demanded  a  re- 
newal of  the  contest.  But  Francis  was  too  wise  to 
fan  a  triumph  into  a  quarrel,  and  by  mild  words  suc- 
ceeded in  smoothing  the  frown  from  Henry's  brow. 

For  some  two  weeks  these  entertainments  lasted, 
the  genial  June  sun  shining  auspiciously  upon  the 
lists.  From  the  galleries  shone  two  minor  lumina- 
ries, the  queens  of  England  and  France,  who  were 
always  present,  "  with  their  ladies  richly  dressed  in 
jewels,  and  with  many  chariots,  litters,  and  hackneys 
covered  with  cloth  of  gold  and  silver,  and  emblazoned 
with  their  arras."  They  occupied  a  glazed  gallery 
hung  with  tapestry,  where  they  were  often  seen  in 
conversation,  a  pleasure  not  so  readily  enjoyed  by 
their  ladies  in  waiting,  most  of  whom  had  to  do  their 
talking  through  the  vexatious  aid  of  an  interpreter. 


THE   FIELD   OF   THE   CLOTH   OP   GOLD.  213 

During  most  of  the  time  through  which  the  tour- 
nR,ment  extended  the  distrust  of  treachery  on  one 
side  or  the  other  continued.  Francis  never  entered 
the  English  pale  unless  Henry  was  on  French  soil. 
Henry  was  similarly  distrustful.  Or,  rather,  the 
distrust  lay  in  the  advisers  of  the  monarchs,  and  as 
the  days  went  on  grew  somewhat  offensive.  Francis 
was  the  first  to  break  it,  and  to  show  his  confidence 
in  the  good  faith  of  his  brother  monarch.  One 
morning  early  he  crossed  the  frontier  and  entered 
the  palace  at  Guisnes  while  Henry  was  still  in  bed, 
or,  as  some  say,  was  at  breakfast.  To  the  guards  at 
the  gate  he  playfully  said,  "  Surrender  your  arms, 
you  are  all  my  prisoners ;  and  now  conduct  me  to 
my  brother  of  England."  He  accosted  Henry  with 
the  utmost  cordiality,  embracing  him  and  saying,  in 
a  merry  tone, — 

"  Here  you  see  I  am  your  prisoner." 

"My  brother,"  cried  Henry,  with  the  warmest 
pleasure,  "you  have  played  me  the  most  agreeable 
trick  in  the  world,  and  have  showed  me  the  full 
confidence  I  may  place  in  you.  I  surrender  myself 
your  prisoner  from  this  moment." 

Costly  presents  passed  between  the  two  monarchs, 
and  from  that  moment  all  restraint  was  at  an  end. 
Each  rode  to  see  the  other  when  he  chose,  their 
attendants  mingled  with  the  same  freedom  and  con- 
fidence, and  during  the  whole  time  not  a  quarrel,  or 
even  a  dispute,  arose  between  the  sons  of  England 
and  France.  In  the  lists  they  used  spear  and  sword 
with  freedom,  but  out  of  them  they  were  the  warmest 
of  friends. 


214  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

On  Sunday,  June  24,  the  tournament  closed  wiih 
a  solemn  mass  sung  by  Wolsey,  who  was  assisted  by 
the  ecclesiastics  of  the  two  lands.  When  the  gospels 
were  presented  to  the  two  kings  to  kiss,  there  was  a 
friendly  contest  as  to  who  should  precede.  And  at 
the  Agnus  Dei,  when  the  Fax  was  presented  to  the 
two  queens,  a  like  contest  arose,  which  ended  in  their 
kissing  each  other  in  lieu  of  the  sacred  emblem. 

At  the  close  of  the  services  a  showy  piece  of  fire- 
works attracted  the  attention  of  the  spectators. 
"  There  appeared  in  the  air  from  Arde  a  great  arti- 
ficial salamander  or  dragon,  four  fathoms  long  and 
full  of  fire ;  many  were  frightened,  thinking  it  a 
comet  or  some  monster,  as  they  could  see  nothing 
to  which  it  was  attached :  it  passed  right  over  the 
chapel  to  Guisnes  as  fast  as  a  footman  can  go,  and 
as  high  as  a  bolt  from  a  cross-bow."  A  splendid 
banquet  followed,  which  concluded  the  festivities  of 
the  "  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold."  The  two  kings 
entered  the  lists  again,  but  now  only  to  exchange 
farewells.  Henry  made  his  way  to  Calais ;  Francis 
returned  to  Abbcyville:  the  great  occasion  was  at 
an  end. 

"What  was  its  result?  Amity  between  the  two 
nations ;  a  centtiry  of  peace  and  friendship  ?  Not  so. 
In  a  month  Henry  had  secretly  alh'ed  himself  to 
Charles  the  Fifth  against  Francis  of  France.  In  five 
years  was  fought  the  battle  of  Pavia,  between  France 
and  the  Emperor  Charles,  in  which  Francis,  aftei 
shoAving  great  valor  on  the  field,  was  taken  prisoner. 
"  All  is  lost,  except  honor,"  he  wrote.  Such  was  the 
eequel  of  the  "  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold." 


THE  STORY  OF  ARABELLA 
STUART 

Op  royal  blood  waH  the  lady  here  named,  near  to 
Ibe  English  throne.  Too  near,  as  it  proved,  for  her 
own  comfort  and  hapjiiness,  for  her  hfe  was  dis- 
tracted by  the  fears  of  those  that  filled  it.  Her 
Btory,  in  consequence,  became  one  of  the  romances 
of  EngUsh  history. 

"  The  Lady  Arabella,"  as  Bhe  was  called,  was  nearly 
related  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  became  an  object  of 
jealous  persecution  by  that  royal  lady.  The  gi'cat 
Elizabeth  had  in  her  disposition  something  of  the 
dog  in  the  manger.  She  would  not  marry  herself, 
and  thus  provide  for  the  succession  to  the  throne, 
and  she  was  determined  that  the  fair  Arabella  should 
not  perform  this  neglected  duty.  Hence  Arabella's 
misery. 

The  first  thing  we  hear  of  this  unfortunate  scion 
of  royal  blood  concerns  a  marriage.  The  whole  story 
of  her  life,  in  fact,  is  concerned  with  marriage,  and 
its  fatal  ending  was  the  result  of  marriage.  Never 
had  a  woman  been  more  sought  in  marriage ;  never 
more  hindered ;  her  life  was  a  tragedy  of  marriage. 

Her  earlier  story  may  be  briefly  given.  James  VI. 
of  Scotland,  cousin  of  the  Lady  Arabella,  chose  as  a 

216 


216  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

husband  for  her  another  cousin,  Lord  Esme  Stuart, 
Duke  of  Lennox,  his  proposed  heir.  The  match  was 
a  desirable  one,  but  Queen  Elizabeth  forbade  the 
banns.  She  threw  the  lady  into  a  prison,  and  defied 
King  James  when  he  demanded  her  delivery,  not 
hesitating  to  speak  with  contempt  of  her  brother 
monarch. 

The  next  to  choose  a  husband  for  Arabella  waa 
the  pope,  who  would  have  been  delighted  to  pro- 
vide a  Catholic  for  the  succession  to  the  English 
throne.  A  prince  of  the  house  of  Savoy  was  the 
choice  of  his  holiness.  The  Duke  of  Parma  was  mar- 
ried, and  his  brother  was  a  cardinal,  and  therefore 
unmarriageable,  but  the  pope  was  not  to  be  defeated 
by  any  such  little  difficulty  as  that.  He  secularized 
the  churchman,  and  made  him  an  eligible  aspirant 
for  the  lady's  hand.  But,  as  may  well  be  supposed, 
Elizabeth  decisively  vetoed  this  chimerical  plan. 

To  escape  from  the  plots  of  scheming  politicians, 
the  Lady  Arabella  now  took  the  task  in  her  own 
hand,  proposing  to  marry  a  son  of  the  Earl  of  ]^J"orth- 
umberland.  Unhappily,  Elizabeth  would  none  of  it. 
To  her  jealous  fancy  an  English  earl  was  more  dan- 
gerous than  a  Scotch  duke.  Thus  went  on  this  ex- 
traordinary business  till  Elizabeth  died,  and  King 
James  of  Scotland,  whom  she  had  despised,  became 
her  successor  on  the  throne,  she  having  paved  the 
way  to  his  succession  by  her  neglect  to  provide  an 
heir  for  it  herself  and  her  insensate  determination 
to  prevent  Arabella  Stuart  from  doing  so. 

James  was  now  king.  He  had  chosen  a  husband 
for  his  cousin  Arabella  before.     It  was  a  natural  pre- 


THE   STORY   OF   ARABELLA   STUART.  217 

sumption  that  he  would  not  object  to  her  marriage 
now.  But  if  Elizabeth  was  jealous,  he  was  suspi- 
cious. A  foolish  plot  was  made  by  some  unimpor- 
tant individuals  to  get  rid  of  the  Scottish  king  and 
place  Arabella  on  the  English  throne.  A  letter  to 
this  effect  was  sent  to  the  lady.  She  laughed  at  it, 
and  sent  it  to  the  king,  who,  probably,  did  not  con- 
sider it  a  laughing-matter. 

This  was  in  1603.  In  1604  the  king  of  Poland  is 
paid  to  have  asked  for  the  lady's  hand  in  marriage. 
Count  Maurice,  Duke  of  Guildres,  was  also  spoken 
of  as  a  suitable  match.  But  James  had  grown  aa 
obdurate  as  Elizabeth, — and  with  as  little  sense  and 
reason.  The  lady  might  enjoy  life  in  single  blessed- 
ness as  she  pleased,  but  marry  she  should  not.  "  Thus 
far  to  the  Lady  Arabella  crowns  and  husbands  were 
like  a  fairy  banquet  seen  at  moonlight  opening  on 
her  sight,  impalpable,  and  vanishing  at  the  moment 
of  approach." 

Several  years  now  passed,  in  which  the  lady  lived 
as  a  dependant  on  the  king's  bount}',  and  in  which, 
so  far  as  we  know,  no  thoughts  of  marriage  were 
entertained.  At  least,  no  projects  of  marriage  were 
made  public,  whatever  may  have  been  the  lady's 
secret  thoughts  and  wishes.  Then  came  the  roman- 
tic event  of  her  Hfe, — a  marriage,  and  its  striking 
consequences.  It  is  this  event  which  has  made  her 
name  remembered  in  the  romance  of  history. 

Christmas  of  1608  had  passed,  and  the  Lady  Ara- 
bella was  still  unmarried;  the  English  crown  had 
not  tottered  to  its  fall  through  the  entrance  of  this 
fair  maiden  into  the  bonds  of  matrimony.  The  year 
K  19 


218  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

1G09  began,  and  terror  seized  the  English  court; 
this  insatiable  woman  was  reaching  out  for  another 
husband !  This  time  the  favored  swain  was  Mr.  Wil- 
liam Seymour,  the  second  son  of  Lord  Beauchamp, 
and  ffrandson  of  the  earl  of  Hertford.  He  was  a  man 
of  admii-ed  character,  a  studious  scholar  in  times  of 
peace,  an  ardent  soldier  in  times  of  war.  He  and 
Arabella  had  known  each  other  from  childhood. 

In  February  the  during  rebellion  of  the  Lady 
Arabella  became  known,  and  sent  its  shaft  of  terror 
to  the  heart  of  King  James.  The  woman  was  at  it 
again,  wanting  to  marry;  she  must  be  dealt  with. 
She  and  Seymour  were  summoned  before  the  privy 
council  and  sharply  questioned.  Seymour  was 
harshly  censured.  How  dared  he  presume  to  seek 
an  alliance  with  one  of  royal  blood,  he  was  asked,  in 
blind  disregard  of  the  fact  that  royal  blood  ran  in 
his  own  veins. 

He  showed  fitting  humility  before  the  council, 
pleading  that  he  meant  no  offence.  Thus  he  told 
the  dignified  councillors  the  story  of  his  wooing, — 

"I  boldly  intruded  myself  into  her  ladyship's 
chamber  in  this  court  on  Candlemas-day  last,  at 
which  time  I  imparted  my  desire  unto  her,  which 
was  entertained,  but  with  this  caution  on  either 
part,  that  both  of  us  resolved  not  to  proceed  to  any 
final  conclusion  without  his  Majesty's  most  gracious 
favor  first  obtained.  And  this  was  our  first  meeting. 
After  this  we  had  a  second  meeting  at  Briggs's  house 
in  Fleet  Street,  and  then  a  third  at  Mr.  Baynton's ; 
at  both  of  which  we  had  the  like  conference  and 
resolution  as  before." 


TUE   STORY    OF   ARABELLA   STUART.  219 

Neither  of  tlicm  would  think  of  marrying  without 
"his  Majesty's  most  gi-acious  favor,"  they  declared. 
This  favor  could  not  be  granted.  The  safety  of  the 
English  crown  had  to  be  considered.  The  lovers 
were  admonished  by  the  privy  council  and  dismissed. 

But  love  laughs  at  privy  councils,  as  well  as  at 
locksmiths.  This  time  the  Lady  Arabella  was  not 
to  be  hindered.  She  and  Seymour  were  secretly  mar- 
ried, without  regard  to  "  his  Majesty's  most  gracious 
favor,"  and  enjoyed  a  short  period  of  connubial  bliss 
in  defiance  of  king  and  council. 

Their  offence  was  not  discovered  till  July  of  the 
following  year.  It  roused  a  small  convulsion  in 
court  circles.  The  king  had  been  defied.  The  cul- 
prits must  be  punished.  The  lovers — for  they  were 
still  lovers— were  separated,  Seymour  being  sent  to 
the  Tower,  for  "  his  contempt  in  marrying  a  lady  of 
the  royal  family  without  the  king's  leave;"  the  lady 
being  confined  at  the  house  of  Sir  Thomas  Parry,  at 
Lambeth. 

Their  confinement  was  not  rigorous.  The  lady  was 
allowed  to  walk  in  the  garden.  The  gentleman  was 
given  the  freedom  of  the  Tower.  Letters  seem  to 
have  passed  between  them.  From  one  of  these  an- 
cient love-letters  we  may  quote  the  affectionate  con- 
clusion.    Seymour  had  taken  cold.     Arabella  writes : 

"I  do  assure  you  that  nothing  the  State  can  do 
with  me  can  trouble  me  so  much  as  this  news  of  your 
being  ill  doth  ;  and,  you  see,  when  1  am  troubled  I 
trouble  you  with  too  tedious  kindness,  for  so  I  think 
you  will  account  so  long  a  letter,  yourself  not  having 


220  HISKJRICAL   TALES. 

written  to  me  this  good  while  so  much  as  how  3'ou 
do.  But,  sweet  sir,  I  speak  not  of  this  to  troulile 
you  with  writing  but  when  you  please.  Be  well, 
and  I  shall  account  myself  happy  in  being 

"  Your  faithful,  loving  wife.  Arb.  S." 

They  wrote  too  much,  it  seems.  Their  corre- 
spondence was  discovered.  Trouble  ensued.  The  king 
determined  to  place  the  lady  in  closer  confinement 
under  the  bishop  of  Durham. 

Arabella  was  in  despair  when  this  news  was  brought 
her.  She  grew  so  ill  from  her  depression  of  spirits  that 
she  could  only  travel  to  her  new  place  of  detention  in 
a  litter  and  under  the  care  of  a  physician.  On  reaching 
Highgate  she  had  become  unfit  to  proceed,  her  pulse 
weak,  her  countenance  pale  and  wan.  The  doctor  left 
her  there  and  returned  to  town,  where  he  reported  to 
the  king  that  the  lady  was  too  sick  to  travel. 

'•  She  shall  proceed  to  Durham  if  I  am  king,"  an- 
swered James,  with  his  usual  weak-headed  obstinacy. 

"  I  make  no  doubt  of  her  obedience,"  answered 
the  doctor. 

"  Obedience  is  what  I  require,"  replied  the  king. 
*'  That  given,  I  will  do  more  for  her  than  she  ex- 
pects." 

He  consented,  in  the  end,  that  she  should  remain 
a  month  at  Highgate,  under  confinement,  at  the  end 
of  which  time  she  should  proceed  to  Durham.  The 
month  passed.  She  wrote  a  letter  to  the  king 
which  procured  her  a  second  month's  respite.  But 
that  time,  too,  passed  on,  and  the  day  fixed  for  her 
further  journey  approached. 


THE   3T0RT   OP   ARABELLA    STUART.  221 

The  lady  now  showed  none  of  the  wild  grief  which 
Bhe  had  at  first  displayed.  She  was  resigned  to  her 
fate,  she  said,  and  manifested  a  tender  sorrow  which 
won  the  hearts  of  her  keepers,  who  could  not  but 
Bympiithize  with  a  high-born  lady  thus  persecuted 
for  what  was  assuredly  no  crime,  if  even  a  fault. 

At  heart,  however  she  was  by  no  moans  so  tran- 
quil as  she  seemed.  Iler  communications  with  Sey- 
mour had  secretly  continued,  and  the  two  had 
l)lanned  a  wildly  romantic  project  of  escape,  of  which 
this  seeming  resignation  was  but  part.  The  day  pre- 
ceding that  fixed  for  her  departure  arrived.  The 
lady  liad  persuaded  an  attendant  to  aid  her  in  pay- 
ing a  last  visit  to  her  husband,  whom  she  declared 
she  must  see  before  going  to  her  distant  prison.  She 
would  return  at  a  fixed  hour.  The  attendant  could 
wait  for  her  at  an  appointed  place. 

This  credulous  servant,  led  astray,  doubtless,  by 
sympathy  with  the  loving  couple,  not  only  consented 
to  the  request,  but  assisted  the  lady  in  assuming  an 
elaborate  disguise. 

*'  She  drew,"  we  are  told,  "  a  pair  of  large  French- 
fashioned  hose  or  trousers  over  her  petticoats,  put 
on  a  man's  doublet  or  coat,  a  peruke  such  as  men 
wore,  whose  long  locks  covered  her  own  ringlets,  a 
black  hat,  a  black  coat,  russet  boots  with  red  tops, 
and  a  rapier  by  her  side.  Thus  accoutred,  the  Lady 
ArabeUa  stole  out  with  a  gentleman  about  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  She  had  only  proceeded  a 
mile  and  a  half  when  they  stopped  at  a  post-inn, 
where  one  of  her  confederates  was  waiting  with 
horses  ;  yet  she  was  so  sick  and  faint  that  the  hostler 
19* 


222  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

who  held  her  stirrup  observed  that  the  gentleman 
could  hardly  hold  out  to  Loudon." 

But  the  "gentleman"  grew  stronger  as  she  pro- 
ceeded. The  exercise  of  riding  gave  her  new  spirit. 
ITer  pale  face  grew  rosy ;  her  strength  increased ; 
b}^  six  o'clock  she  reached  Blackwall,  where  a  boat 
and  servants  were  waiting.  The  plot  had  been  well 
devised  aud  all  the  necessary  preparations  made. 

The  boatmen  were  bidden  to  row  to  "Woolwich. 
This  point  reached,  they  were  asked  to  proceed  to 
Gravesend.  Then  they  rowed  on  to  Tilbury.  By 
this  time  they  were  fatigued,  and  landed  for  rest 
and  refreshment.  But  the  desired  goal  had  not  yet 
been  reached,  and  an  offer  of  higher  pay  induced 
them  to  push  on  to  Lee. 

Here  the  fugitive  lady  rested  till  daybreak.  The 
liffht  of  morn  discovered  a  French  vessel  at  anchor 
off  the  harbor,  which  was  quickly  boarded.  It  had 
been  provided  for  the  escape  of  the  lovers.  But 
Seymour,  who  had  planned  to  escape  from  the  Tower 
and  meet  her  here,  had  not  arrived.  Arabella  was 
desirous  that  the  vessel  should  continue  at  anchor 
until  he  appeared.  If  he  should  fail  to  come  she 
did  not  care  to  proceed.  The  land  that  held  her 
lord  was  the  laud  in  which  she  wished  to  dwell,  even 
if  they  should  be  parted  by  fate  and  forced  to  live 
asunder. 

This  view  did  not  please  those  who  were  aiding 
her  escape.  They  would  be  pursued,  and  might  bo 
overtaken.  Delay  was  dangerous.  In  disregard  of 
her  wishes,  they  ordered  the  captain  to  put  to  sea. 
As  events  turned  out,  their  haste  proved  unfortunate 


THE   STORY    OF   ARABELLA   STUART.  223 

for  the  fair  fui^itive,  and  the  "cause  of  woes  un 
numbered"  to  the  loving  pair. 

Leaving  her  to  her  journey,  we  must  return  to  the 
adventures  of  Seymour.  Prisoner  at  large,  as  ho 
was,  in  the  Tower,  escape  proved  not  difficult.  A 
cart  had  entered  the  enclosure  to  bring  wood  to  his 
apartment.  On  its  departure  he  followed  it  through 
the  gates,  unobserved  by  the  warder.  His  servant 
was  left  behind,  with  orders  to  keep  all  visitors  from 
the  room,  on  pretence  that  his  master  was  laid  up 
with  a  raging  toothache. 

Eeaching  the  river,  the  escaped  prisoner  found  a 
man  in  his  confidence  in  waiting  with  a  boat.  He 
was  rowed  down  the  stream  to  Lee,  whei*e  he  ex- 
pected to  find  his  Arabella  in  waiting.  She  was  not 
there,  but  in  the  distance  was  a  vessel  which  ho 
fancied  might  have  her  on  board.  lie  hired  a  fisher- 
man to  take  him  out.  Hailing  the  vessel,  he  inquired 
its  Dame,  and  to  his  grief  learned  that  it  was  not  the 
French  ship  which  had  been  hired  for  the  lovers' 
flight.  Fate  had  separated  them.  Filled  with  de- 
spair, ho  took  passage  on  a  vessel  from  Newcastle, 
whose  captain  was  induced,  for  a  fair  consideration, 
to  alter  his  course.  In  due  time  he  landed  in  Flan- 
ders, free,  but  alone.  He  was  never  to  set  eyes  on 
Arabella  Stuart  again. 

Meanwhile,  the  escape  of  the  lady  from  Higbgate 
had  become  known,  and  had  aroused  almost  as  much 
alarm  as  if  some  frightful  calamity  had  overtaken 
the  State.  Confusion  and  alarm  pervaded  the  court. 
The  Gunpowder  Plot  itself  hardly  shook  up  the  gray 
heads  of  King  James's  cabinet  more  than  did  the 


224  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

flight  of  this  pair  of  parted  doves.  The  wind  seemed 
to  waft  peril.  The  minutes  seemed  fraught  with 
threats.  Couriers  were  despatched  in  all  haste  to 
the  neighboring  seaports,  and  hurry  everywhere  pre- 
vailed. 

A  messenger  was  sent  to  the  Tower,  bidding  the 
lieutenant  to  guard  Seymour  with  double  vigilance. 
To  the  surprise  of  the  worthy  lieutenant,  he  dis- 
covered that  Seymour  was  not  there  to  be  guarded. 
The  bird  had  flown.  Word  of  this  threw  King 
James  into  a  ludicrous  state  of  terror.  He  wished 
to  issue  a  vindictive  proclamation,  full  of  hot  ful- 
minations,  and  could  scarcely  be  persuaded  by  his 
minister  to  tone  down  his  foolish  utterances.  The  re- 
vised edict  was  sent  off  with  as  much  speed  as  if  an 
enemy's  fleet  were  in  the  offing,  the  courier  being 
urged  to  his  utmost  despatch,  the  postmasters  aroused 
to  activity  by  the  stirring  superscription,  "  Haste, 
haste,  post-haste!  Haste  for  your  life,  your  life!" 
One  might  have  thought  that  a  new  Norman  inva- 
sion was  threatening  the  coast,  instead  of  a  pair  of 
new-married  lovers  flying  to  finish  their  honey-moon 
in  peace  and  freedom  abroad. 

When  news  of  what  had  happened  reached  the 
family  of  the  Seymours,  it  threw  them  into  a  state 
of  alarm  not  less  than  that  of  the  king.  They  knew 
what  it  meant  to  ofl'end  the  crown.  The  progenitor 
of  the  family,  the  Duke  of  Somerset,  had  lost  his  head 
through  some  off'ence  to  a  king,  and  his  descendants 
had  no  ambition  to  be  similarly  curtailed  of  their 
natural  proportions.  Francis  Seymour  wrote  to  his 
uncle,  the  Earl  of  Hertford,  then  distant  from  London. 


THE   STORY   OF  ARABELLA   STUART.  225 

telling  the  story  of  the  flight  of  his  brother  and  the 
hidy.  This  letter  still  exists,  and  its  appearance 
indicates  the  terror  into  which  it  threw  the  earl. 
It  reached  him  at  midnight.  With  it  came  a  summons 
to  attend  the  privy  council.  He  read  it  apparently 
by  the  light  of  a  taper,  and  with  such  agitation  that 
the  sheet  caught  fire.  The  scorched  letter  still  exists, 
and  is  burnt  through  at  the  most  critical  part  of  its 
Btory.  The  poor  old  earl  learned  enough  to  double 
his  terror,  and  lost  the  section  that  would  have  alle- 
viated it.  He  hastened  up  to  London  in  a  state  of 
doubt  and  fear,  not  knowing  but  that  he  was  about 
to  be  indicted  for  high  treason. 

Meanwhile,  what  had  become  of  the  disconsolate 
Lady  Arabella?  The  poor  bride  found  herself  alone 
upon  the  Bcas,  mourning  for  her  lost  Seymour,  im- 
ploring her  attendants  to  delay,  straining  her  eyes 
in  hopes  of  seeing  some  boat  bearing  to  her  him  she 
60  dearly  loved.  It  was  in  vain.  No  Sej'mour  ap- 
peared. And  the  delay  in  her  flight  proved  fatal. 
The  French  ship  which  bore  her  was  overtaken  in 
Calais  roads  by  one  of  the  king's  vessels  which  had 
been  so  hastily  despatched  in  pursuit,  and  the  lady 
was  taken  on  board  and  brought  back,  protesting 
that  she  cared  not  what  became  of  her  if  her  dear 
Seymour  should  only  escape. 

The  story  ends  mournfullj'.  The  sad-hearted 
bride  was  consigned  to  an  imprisonment  that  preyed 
heavily  upon  hor.  Never  very  strong,  her  sorrow  and 
depression  of  s])irit8  reduced  her  powers,  while,  with 
the  hope  that  she  might  die  the  sooner,  she  refused 
the  aid  of  physicians.  Grief,  desimir,  intense  emo- 
II.— p 


226  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

tion,  in  time  impaired  her  reason,  and  at  the  end  Df 
four  years  of  prison  life  she  died,  her  mind  having 
died  before.  Earely  has  a  simple  and  innocent 
marriage  produced  such  sad  results  through  the 
uncalled-for  jealousy  of  kings.  The  sad  romance  of 
the  poor  Lady  Arabella's  life  was  due  to  the  fact  that 
she  had  an  unreasonable  woman  to  deal  with  in 
Elizabeth,  and  a  suspicious  fool  in  James.  Sound 
common-sense  must  say  that  neither  had  aught  to 
gain  fi'om  their  persecution  of  the  poor  lady,  whom 
they  were  so  obstinately  determined  should  end  life 
a  maid. 

Seymour  spent  some  years  abroad,  and  then  was 
permitted  to  return  to  England.  His  wife  was  dead  ; 
the  king  had  naught  to  fear.  He  lived  through 
three  successive  reigns,  distinguishing  himself  by 
his  loyalty  to  James  and  his  two  successors,  and  to 
the  day  of  his  death  retaining  his  warm  affection 
for  his  first  love.  He  married  again,  and  to  tho 
daughter  born  from  this  match  he  gave  the  name 
of  Arabella  Stuart,  in  token  of  his  undying  attach- 
ment to  the  lady  of  his  life's  romance. 


LOVE'S  KNIGHT-ERRANT. 

On  the  18th  of  February,  1G23,  two  young  men, 
Tom  and  John  Smith  by  name,  plainly  dressed  and 
atteuded  by  one  companion  in  the  attire  of  an  upper- 
servant,  rodo  to  the  ferry  at  Gravesend,  on  the 
Thames.  Thcj  wore  heavy  beards,  which  did  not 
look  altogether  natural,  and  had  pulled  their  hats 
well  down  over  their  foreheads,  as  if  to  hide  their 
faces  from  prying  eyes.  They  seemed  a  cross  be- 
tween disguised  highwaymen  and  disguised  noble- 
men. 

The  ancient  ferryman  looked  at  them  with  some 
suspicion  as  they  entered  his  boat,  asking  himself, 
*' What  lark  is  afoot  with  these  young  bloods? 
There's  mischief  lurking  under  those  beards." 

His  suspicions  were  redoubled  when  his  passengers, 
in  arbitrary  tones,  bade  him  put  them  ashore  below 
the  town,  instead  of  at  the  usual  landing-place.  And 
he  became  sure  that  they  were  great  folks  bent  on 
mischief  when,  on  landing,  one  of  them  handed  him 
a  gold  piece  for  his  fare,  and  rode  away  without 
asking  for  change. 

"  Aha !  my  brisk  lads,  I  have  you  now,"  he  said, 
with  a  chuckle.  "  There's  a  duel  afoot.  Those  two 
j'oungsters  are  off  for  the  other  side  of  the  Channel, 

227 


228  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

to  let  out  some  angry  blood,  and  the  other  goes 
along  as  second  or  surgeon.  It's  very  neat,  but  the 
law  saj^s  nay ;  and  I  know  my  duty.  I  am  not  to  be 
bought  off  with  a  piece  of  gold." 

Pocketing  bis  golden  fare,  he  hastened  to  the  nearest 
magistrate,  and  told  his  story  and  his  suspicion. 
The  magistrate  agreed  with  him,  and  at  once  de- 
spatched a  post-boy  to  Eochester,  with  orders  to  have 
the  doubtful  travellers  stopped.  Away  rode  the  mes- 
senger at  haste,  on  one  of  the  freshest  horses  to  be 
found  in  Gravesend  stables.  But  his  steed  was  no 
match  for  the  thoroughbreds  of  the  suspected  way- 
farers, and  they  had  left  the  ancient  town  of  Eochester 
in  the  rear  long  before  he  reached  its  skirts. 

Eochester  passed,  they  rode  briskly  onward,  con- 
versing with  the  gay  freedom  of  frolicsome  youth ; 
wben,  much  to  tbeir  alarm  as  it  seemed,  they  saw  in 
the  road  before  them  a  stately  train.  It  consisted 
of  a  carriage  that  appeared  royal  in  its  decorations 
and  in  the  glittering  trappings  of  its  horses,  beside 
which  rode  two  men  dressed  like  noblemen,  following 
whom  came  a  goodly  retinue  of  attendants. 

The  young  waj^farers  seemed  to  recognize  the  trav- 
ellers, and  drew  up  to  a  quick  halt,  as  if  in  alarm. 

"  Le  wknor  and  Main  waring,  by  all  that's  unlucky  I" 
said  the  one  known  as  Tom  Smith. 

"  And  a  carriage-load  of  Spanish  high  mightiness 
between  them  ;  for  that's  the  ambassador  on  his  way 
to  court,"  answered  John  Smith.  "  It's  all  up  with 
our  escapade  if  they  get  their  eyes  on  us.  We  must 
bolt." 

"How,  and  whither?" 


love's  knight-errant.  229 

"Over  the  hedge  and  far  awuy." 

Spurring  their  horses,  they  broke  through  the  low 
hedge  that  bordered  the  road-side,  and  galloped  at  a 
rapid  pace  across  the  fields  beyond.  The  approaching 
party  viewed  this  movement  with  lively  suspicion. 

"^^1l0  can  they  be?"  queried  Sir  lewis  Lewknor, 
one  of  the  noblemen. 

His  companion,  who  was  no  less  a  personage  than 
Sir  Henry  Mainwaring,  lieutenant  of  Dover  Castle, 
looked  questioningly  after  the  fugitives. 

"They  are  well  mounted  and  have  the  start  on  ua. 
"We  cannot  overtake  them,"  he  muttered. 

"  You  know  them,  then  ?"  asked  Lewknor. 

"  I  have  my  doubt  that  two  of  them  are  the  young 
Barneveldts,  who  have  just  tried  to  murder  the 
Prince  of  Orange.  They  must  be  stopped  and  ques- 
tioned." 

He  turned  and  bade  one  of  his  followers  to  ride 
back  with  all  speed  to  Canterbury,  and  bid  the 
magistrates  to  detain  three  suspicious  travellers,  who 
would  soon  reach  that  town.  This  done,  the  train 
moved  on,  Mainwaring  satisfied  that  he  had  checked 
the  runaways,  whoever  they  were. 

The  Smiths  and  their  attendant  reached  Canter- 
bury in  good  time,  but  this  time  they  were  outridden. 
Mainwaring's  messenger  had  got  in  before  them, 
and  the  young  adventurers  found  themselves  stopj)cd 
by  a  mounted  guard,  with  the  unwelcome  tidings 
that  his  honor,  the  mayor,  would  like  to  see  them. 

Being  brought  before  his  honor,  they  blustered  a 
little,  talked  in  big  tones  of  the  rights  of  English. 
men,  and  asked  angrilji  who  had  dared  order  theii* 
20 


230  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

detention.  They  found  master  mayor  cool  and  do- 
cided. 

"  Gentlemen,  you  will  stay  here  till  I  know  bettor 
who  you  are,"  he  said.  ''Sir  Henry  Mainwaring 
has  ordered  you  to  be  stopped,  and  he  best  knows 
why.  Nor  do  I  fancy  he  has  gone  amiss,  for  your 
names  of  Tom  and  John  Smith  fit  you  about  as  well 
as  your  beards." 

At  these  words,  the  one  that  claimed  the  name  of 
John  Smith  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh.  Seizing  his 
beard,  he  gave  it  a  slight  jerk,  and  it  came  off  in  his 
hand.  The. mayor  started  in  surprise.  The  face 
before  him  was  one  that  he  very  well  knew. 

"  The  Marquis  of  Buckingham  !"  he  exclaimed. 

"The  same,  at  your  service,"  said  Buckingham, 
still  lauo-hinsr.  "  Mainwaring  takes  me  for  other 
than  I  am.  Likely  enough  he  deems  me  a  runaway 
road-agent.  You  will  scarcely  stop  the  lord  admiral, 
going  in  disguise  to  Dover  to  make  a  secret  inspec- 
tion of  the  fleet  ?" 

"  Wh}-,  that  certainly  changes  the  case,"  said  the 
mayor.  "  But  who  is  your  companion  ?"  he  con- 
tinued, in  a  low  tone,  looking  askance  at  the  other. 

"A  young  gallant  of  the  court,  who  keeps  me 
company,"  said  Buckingham,  carelessly. 

"  The  road  is  free  before  you,  gentlemen,"  said  the 
mayor,  graciously.     "  I  will  answer  to  Mainwaring." 

He  turned  and  bade  his  guards  to  deliver  their 
horses  to  the  travellers.  But  his  eyes  followed  them 
with  a  peculiar  twinkle  as  they  left  the  room. 

"  A  young  gallant  of  the  court !"  he  muttered. 
"  I  have  seen  that  gallant  before.     Well,  well,  what 


love's  knight-errant.  231 

mad  frolic  is  afoot  ?  Thank  the  stars,  I  am  not 
bound,  bj'  virtue  of  my  office,  to  know  him." 

The  part}^  reached  Dover  without  further  adven- 
ture. But  the  inspection  of  the  fleet  was  evidently 
an  invention  for  the  benefit  of  the  mayor.  Instead 
of  troubling  themselves  about  the  fleet,  they  entered 
a  vessel  that  seemed  awaiting  them,  and  on  whose 
deck  they  were  joined  by  two  companions.  In  a 
ver}^  short  time  they  were  out  of  harbor  and  off 
with  a  fresh  wind  across  the  Channel.  Mainwaring 
had  been  wrong, — was  the  ferryman  right  ? — was  a 
duel  the  purpose  of  this  flight  in  disguise  ? 

No;  the  travellers  made  no  halt  at  Boulogne,  tho 
favorite  duelling-ground  of  English  hot-bloods,  but 
pushed  off  in  haste  for  Montreuil,  and  thence  rode 
straight  to  Paris,  which  they  reached  after  a  two- 
daj^s'  journey. 

It  seemed  an  odd  freak,  this  ride  in  disguise  for 
the  mere  pui'pose  of  a  visit  to  Paris.  But  thei'e  was 
nothing  to  indicate  that  the  two  young  men  had  any- 
other  object  as  they  strolled  carelessly  during  the 
next  day  about  the  French  capital,  known  to  none 
there,  and  enjoying  themselves  like  school-boys  on  a 
holiday. 

Among  tho  sights  which  they  managed  to  see 
were  the  king,  Louis  XIII.,  and  his  royal  mother, 
Marie  de  Medecis.  That  evening  a  mask  was  to  bo 
rehearsed  at  the  palace,  in  which  the  queen  and  tho 
Princess  Henrietta  Maria  were  to  take  part.  On 
the  plea  of  being  strangers  in  Paris,  the  two  young 
Englishmen  managed  to  obtain  admittance  to  this 
royal  merrymaking,  which  they  highly  enjoyed.    Aa 


232  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

to  what  they  saw,  we  have  a  partial  record  in  a  sub- 
sequent letter  from  one  of  them. 

"There  danced,"  says  this  epistle,  "the  queen  and 
madame,  with  as  many  as  made  up  nineteen  fair 
dancing  ladies;  amongst  which  the  queen  is  the 
handsomest,  which  hath  wrought  in  me  a  greater 
desire  to  see  her  sister." 

This  sister  was  then  at  Madrid,  for  the  queen  of 
France  was  a  daughter  of  Philip  III.  of  Spain. 
And,  as  if  Spain  was  the  true  destination  of  the 
travellers,  and  to  see  the  French  queen's  sister  their 
object,  at  the  early  hour  of  three  the  next  morning 
they  were  up  and  on  horseback,  riding  out  of  Paris 
on  the  road  to  Bayonne.  Away  they  went,  pressing 
onward  at  speed,  he  whom  we  as  yet  know  only  as 
Tom  Smith  taking  the  lead,  and  pushing  forward 
with  such  youthful  eagerness  that  even  the  seasoned 
Buckingham  looked  the  worse  for  wear  before  they 
reached  the  borders  of  Spain. 

"Who  was  this  eager  errant  knight?  All  London 
by  this  time  knew,  and  it  is  time  that  we  should 
learn.  Indeed,  while  the  youthful  wayfarers  were 
speeding  away  on  their  mad  and  merry  ride,  the 
privy  councillors  of  England  were  on  their  knees 
before  King  James,  half  beside  themselves  with  ap- 
prehension, saying  that  Prince  Charles  had  disap- 
peared, that  the  rumor  was  that  he  had  gone  to 
Spain,  and  begging  to  know  if  this  wild  rumor  were 
true. 

« There  is  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  the  king,  "  But 
what  of  that?  His  father,  his  grandfather,  and  his 
groat-grandfather  all  went  into  foreign  countries  to 


love's  knight-errant.  233 

fetch  home  their  wives, — why  not  the  prince,  my 
8on?" 

'*  England  may  learn  why,"  was  the  answer  of  the 
alarmed  councillors,  and  after  them  of  the  disturbed 
country.  "  The  king  of  Spain  is  not  to  be  trusted 
with  such  a  royal  morsel.  Suppose  he  seizes  the 
heir  to  England's  throne,  and  holds  him  as  hostage! 
The  boy  is  mad,  and  the  king  in  his  dotage  to  permit 
so  wild  a  thing."  Such  was  the  scope  of  general 
comment  on  the  prince's  escapade. 

"While  England  fumed,  and  King  James  had  begun 
to  fret  in  chorus  with  the  country,  his  "  sweet  boys 
and  dear  venturous  knights,  worthy  to  be  put  in  a 
new  romanso,"  as  he  had  remarked  on  first  learning  of 
their  flight,  were  making  their  way  at  utmost  horse- 
speed  across  France.  A  few  miles  beyond  Bayonne 
they  met  a  messenger  from  the  Earl  of  Bristol,  am- 
bassador at  Madrid,  bc-aring  despatches  to  England. 
They  stopped  him,  opened  his  papers,  and  sought  to 
read  them,  but  found  the  bulk  of  them  written  in  a 
cipher  beyond  their  powers  to  solve.  BafHed  in 
this,  they  bade  Gresley,  the  messenger,  to  return 
with  them  as  far  as  Irun,  as  they  wished  him  to  bear 
to  the  king  a  letter  written  on  Spanish  soil. 

No  great  distance  forther  brought  them  to  the 
small  river  Bidassoa,  the  Eubicon  of  their  journey. 
It  formed  the  boundary  between  France  and  Spain. 
On  reaching  its  southern  bank  they  stood  on  the 
soil  of  the  land  of  the  dons,  and  the  truant  prince 
danced  for  jo}^,  filled  with  delight  at  the  succe.-^s  of 
his  runaway  prank.  Gresley  afterwards  reported 
in  England  that  Buckingham  looked  worn  from  his 
20* 


234  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

long  ride,  but  that  he  had  never  seen  Prince  Charles 
BO  merry. 

Onward  through  this  new  kingdom  went  the 
youthful  scapegraces,  over  the  hills  and  plains  of 
Spain,  their  hearts  beating  with  merry  music, — Buck- 
ingham gay  from  his  native  spirit  of  adventure, 
Charles  eager  to  see  in  knight-errant  fashion  the 
charming  infanta  of  Spain,  of  whom  he  had  seen,  as 
yet,  only  the  "  counterfeit  presentment,"  and  a  view 
of  whom  in  person  was  the  real  object  of  his  jour- 
ney. So  ardent  were  the  two  young  men  that  they 
far  outrode  their  companions,  and  at  eight  o'clock  in 
the  evening  of  March  7,  seventeen  days  after  they 
had  left  Buckingham's  villa  at  Newhall,  the  truant 
pair  were  knocking  briskly  at  the  door  of  the  Earl 
of  Bristol  at  Madrid. 

Wilder  and  more  perilous  escapade  had  rarely  been 
adventured.  The  king  had  let  them  go  with  fear 
and  trembling.  Weak-willed  monarch  as  he  was,  he 
could  not  resist  Buckingham's  persuasions,  though 
he  dreaded  the  result.  The  uncertain  temper  of 
Philip  of  Spain  was  well-known,  the  preliminaries 
of  the  marriage  which  had  been  designed  between 
Charles  and  the  infanta  were  far  from  settled,  the 
political  relations  between  England  and  Spain  were 
not  of  the  most  pacific,  and  it  was  within  the  bounds 
of  probability  that  Philip  might  seize  and  hold  the 
heir  of  England.  It  would  give  him  a  vast  advan- 
tage over  the  sister  realm,  and  profit  had  been  knoAvn 
to  outweigh  honor  in  the  minds  of  potentates. 

Heedless  of  all  this,  sure  that  his  appearance  would 
dispel  the  clouds  that  hung  over  the  marriage  com- 


love's  knight-errant,  235 

pact  iind  shed  the  sunshine  of  peace  and  union  over 
the  two  kingdoms,  giddy  with  the  hopefuhiess  cf 
youth,  and  infected  with  Buckingham's  love  of  gal- 
lantry and  adventure,  Charles  reached  Madrid  with- 
out a  thought  of  peril,  wild  to  see  the  infiinta  in  his 
new  role  of  knight-errant,  and  to  decide  for  himself 
whether  the  beauty  and  accomplishments  for  which 
slie  was  famed  were  as  patent  to  his  eye  as  to  the 
voice  of  common  report,  and  such  as  made  her  worthy 
the  love  of  a  prince  of  high  degree. 

Such  was  the  mood  and  such  the  hopes  with 
•which  the  romantic  prince  knocked  at  Lord  Bristol's 
door.  But  such  was  not  the  feeling  with  which  the 
practised  diplomat  received  his  visitors.  He  saw  at 
a  glance  the  lake  of  possible  mischief  before  him  ; 
3'ct  he  was  versed  in  the  art  of  keeping  his  counte- 
nance serene,  and  received  his  guests  as  cordially  as  if 
they  had  called  on  him  in  his  London  mansion. 

Bristol  would  have  kept  the  coming  of  the  prince  to 
himself,  if  it  had  been  possible.  But  the  utmost  ho 
could  hope  was  to  keep  the  secret  for  that  night,  and 
even  in  this  he  failed.  Count  Gondomar,  a  Spanish 
di])lomat,  called  on  him,  saw  his  visitors,  and  while 
affecting  ignorance  was  not  for  an  instant  deceived. 
On  leaving  Bristol's  house  he  at  once  hurried  to  the 
royal  palace,  and,  filled  with  his  weighty  tidings, 
burst  upon  Count  Olivares,  the  king's  favorite,  at 
supper.  Gondomar's  face  was  beaming.  Olivaros 
looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  What  brings  you  here  so  late  ?"  he  asked.  "  One 
would  think  that  you  had  got  the  king  of  England 
in  Madrid." 


236  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

"  If  I  have  not  got  the  king,"  replied  Gondomar, 
"  at  least  I  have  got  the  prince.  You  cannot  ask  a 
rarer  prize." 

Olivares  sat  stupefied  at  the  astounding  news.  As 
soon  as  he  could  find  words  he  congratulated  Gon- 
domar on  his  important  tidings,  and  quickly  hastened 
to  find  the  king,  who  was  in  his  bedchamber,  and 
whom  he  astonished  with  the  tale  he  had  to  tell. 

The  monarch  and  his  astute  minister  eai-nestlj  dis- 
cussed the  subject  in  all  its  bearings.  On  one  point 
they  felt  sure.  The  coining  of  Charles  to  Spain 
was  evidence  to  them  that  he  intended  to  change  his 
religion  and  embrace  the  Catholic  faith.  He  would 
never  have  ventured  otherwise.  But,  to  "make  as- 
surance doubly  sure,"  Philip  turned  to  a  crucifix 
which  stood  at  the  head  of  his  bed,  and  swore  on  it 
that  the  coming  of  the  prince  of  Wales  should  not 
induce  him  to  take  a  step  in  the  marriage  not  favored 
by  the  pope,  even  if  it  should  involve  the  loss  of  his 
kingdom. 

"  As  to  what  is  temporal  and  mine,"  he  said,  to 
Olivares,  "  see  that  all  his  wishes  are  gratified,  in 
consideration  of  the  obligation  under  which  he  has 
placed  us  by  coming  here." 

Meanwhile,  Bristol  spent  the  night  in  the  false 
belief  that  the  secret  was  still  his  own.  He  sum- 
moned Gondomar  in  the  morning,  told  him,  with  a 
show  of  conferring  a  favor,  of  what  had  occurred, 
and  bade  him  to  tell  OHvares  that  Buckingham  had 
arrived,  but  to  say  nothing  about  the  prince.  That 
Gondomar  consented  need  not  be  said.  He  had 
already  told  all  there  was  to  tell.     In  the  afternoon 


love's  knigut-errant.  237 

Buckingham  and  01ivare8  had  a  brief  interview  in 
the  gardens  of  the  palace.  After  nightfall  the  Eng- 
lish  marquis  had  the  honor  of  kissing  the  hand  of 
bis  Catholic  Majesty,  Philip  IV.  of  Spain.  Ho  told 
the  king  of  the  arrival  of  Prince  Charles,  much  to 
the  seeming  surprise  of  the  monarch,  who  had  learned 
the  art  of  keeping  his  countenance. 

During  the  next  day  a  mysterious  silence  was  pre- 
served concerning  the  great  event,  though  certain  un- 
usual proceedings  took  place.  Philip,  with  the  queen, 
bis  sister,  the  infanta,  and  his  two  brothers,  drove 
backward  and  forward  through  the  streets  of  Madrid. 
In  another  carriage  the  Prince  of  Wales  made  a  simi- 
larly stately  progress  through  the  same  streets,  the 
puipose  being  to  yield  him  a  passing  glimpse  of  his 
betrothed  and  the  royal  family.  The  streets  were 
thronged,  all  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  coach  containing 
the  strangers,  yet  silence  reigned.  The  rumor  had 
spread  far  and  wide  who  those  strangers  were,  but  it 
was  a  secret,  and  no  one  must  show  that  the  secret 
was  afoot.  Yet,  though  their  voices  were  silent,  their 
hearts  were  full  of  triumph  in  the  belief  that  the 
fuLui-e  king  of  England  had  come  with  the  purjioso 
of  embracing  the  national  faith  of  Spain. 

At  the  end  of  the  procession  Olivares  joined  the 
prince  and  told  him  that  his  royal  master  was  dying 
to  speak  with  him,  and  could  scarcely  i*estrain  him- 
self. An  interview  was  quickly  arranged,  its  locality 
to  be  the  coach  of  the  king.  Meanwhile,  Olivares 
Bought  Buckingham. 

"Let  us  despatch  this  matter  out  of  hand,"  ho 
said,  "  and  strike  it  up  without  the  popo." 


238  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

"  Yery  well,"  answered  Buckingham ;  "  but  how  is 
it  to  be  done  ?" 

"  The  means  are  very  easy,"  said  Olivares,  lightly. 
"  It  is  but  the  conversion  of  the  prince,  which  we 
cannot  conceive  but  his  highness  intended  when  he 
resolved  upon  this  journey." 

This  belief  was  a  very  natural  one.  The  fact  of 
Charles  being  a  Protestant  had  been  the  stumbling- 
block  in  the  way  of  the  match.  A  dispensation  for 
the  marriage  of  a  Catholic  princess  with  the  Prot- 
estant prince  of  England  had  been  asked  from  the 
pope,  but  had  not  yet  been  given.  Charles  had 
come  to  Madrid  with  the  empty  hope  that  his  pres- 
ence would  cut  the  knot  of  this  difficulty,  and  win 
him  the  princess  out  of  hand.  The  authorities  and 
the  people,  on  the  contrary,  fancied  that  nothing 
less  than  an  intention  to  turn  Catholic  could  have 
brought  him  to  Spain.  As  for  the  infanta  herself,  she 
was  an  ardent  Catholic,  and  bitterly  opposed  to  being 
united  in  marriage  to  a  heretic  prince.  Such  was  the 
state  of  affairs  that  prevailed.  The  easy  pathway 
out  of  the  difficulty  which  the  hopeful  prince  had  de- 
vised was  likely  to  prove  not  quite  free  from  thorns. 

The  days  passed  on.  Buckingham  declared  to 
Olivares  that  Charles  had  no  thought  of  becoming 
a  Catholic.  Charles  avoided  the  subject,  and  talked 
only  of  his  love.  The  Spanish  ministers  blamed 
Bristol  for  his  indecision,  and  had  rooms  prepared 
for  the  prince  in  the  royal  palace.  Charles  willingly 
accepted  them,  and  on  the  16th  of  March  rode 
through  the  streets  of  Madrid,  on  the  right  hand  of 
the  king,  to  his  new  abode. 


love's  kniqht-errant.  23& 

The  people  were  now  permitted  to  applaud  to 
their  hearts'  desire,  as  no  further  pretence  of  a  secret 
existed.  Glad  acclamations  attended  the  progress 
of  the  royal  cortege.  The  people  shouted  with  joy, 
and  all,  high  and  low,  sang  a  song  composed  for  tho 
occasion  by  Lope  de  Vega,  the  famous  dramatist, 
which  told  how  Charles  had  come,  under  the  guidance 
of  love,  to  the  Spanish  sky  to  see  his  star  Maria. 

"  Carlos  Estuardo  soy 
Que,  siendo  amor  mi  guia, 
Al  cielo  d  Espana  voy 
Por  ver  mi  estrella  Maria." 

The  palace  was  decorated  with  all  its  ancient 
splendor,  tho  streets  everj'whcre  showed  signs  of 
the  public  joy,  and,  as  a  special  mark  of  royal  clem- 
ency, all  prisoners,  except  those  held  for  heinous 
crimes,  were  set  at  liberty,  among  them  numerous 
English  galley-slaves,  who  had  been  captured  in 
pirate  vessels  preying  upon  Spanish  commerce. 

Yet  all  this  merrymaking  and  clemency,  and  all 
the  negotiations  which  proceeded  in  the  precincts  of 
the  palace,  did  not  expedite  the  question  at  issue. 
Charles  had  no  thought  of  becoming  a  Catholic. 
Philip  had  little  thought  of  permitting  a  marriage 
under  any  other  conditions.  The  /nfanta  hated  the 
Idea  of  the  sacrifice,  as  she  considered  it.  The  au- 
thorities at  Eome  refused  the  dispensation.  The 
wheels  of  tho  whole  business  seemed  firmly  blocked. 

Meanwhile,  Charles  had  seen  the  infanta  again, 
Bomewhat  more  closely  than  in  a  passing  glance  from 
a  carriage,  and  though  no  words  had  passed  between 


240  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

them,  her  charms  of  face  strongly  attracted  his  sus- 
ceptible heart.  He  was  convinced  that  he  deeply 
loved  her,  and  he  ardently  pressed  for  a  closer  inter- 
view. This  Spanish  etiquette  hindered,  and  it  was 
not  until  April  7,  Easter  Day,  that  a  personal  inter- 
view was  granted  the  ardent  lover.  On  that  day 
the  king,  accompanied  by  a  train  of  grandees,  led 
the  English  prince  to  the  apartments  of  the  queen, 
who  sat  in  state,  with  the  infanta  by  her  side. 

Greeting  the  queen  with  proper  respect,  Charles 
turned  to  address  the  lady  of  his  love.  A  few  cere- 
monial words  had  been  set  down  for  him  to  utter, 
but  his  English  heart  broke  the  bonds  of  Spanish 
etiquette,  and,  forgetting  everything  but  his  passion, 
he  began  to  address  the  princess  in  ardent  words  of 
his  own  choice.  He  had  not  gone  far  before  there 
was  a  sensation.  The  persons  present  began  to 
whisper.  The  queen  looked  with  angry  eyes  on  the 
presuming  lover.  The  infanta  was  evidently  an- 
noyed. Charles  hesitated  and  stopped  short.  Some- 
thing seemed  to  have  gone  wrong.  The  infanta 
answered  his  eager  words  with  a  few  cold,  common- 
place sentences  ;  a  sense  of  constraint  and  uneasiness 
appeared  to  haunt  the  apartment ;  the  interview  was 
at  an  end.  English  ideas  of  love-making  had  proved 
much  too  unconventional  for  a  Spanish  court. 

From  that  day  forward  the  affair  di*agged  on  with 
infinite  deliberation,  the  passion  of  the  prince  grow- 
ing stronger,  the  aversion  of  the  infanta  seemingly 
increasing,  the  purpose  of  the  Spanish  court  to  mould 
the  ardent  lover  to  its  own  ends  appearing  mora 
decided. 


love's   KNianT-ERRANT.  241 

"Whilo  Charles  showed  his  native  disposition  by 
prevarication,  Bueldngham  showed  his  by  an  impa- 
tience that  soon  led  to  anger  and  insolence.  Tho 
wearisome  slowness  of  the  negotiations  ill  suited  his 
hasty  and  arbitrary  temper,  ho  quarrelled  with  mem- 
bers of  the  State  Council,  and,  in  an  interview  be- 
tween the  prince  and  the  friars,  he  grow  so  incensed 
at  the  demands  made  that,  in  disregard  of  all  tho 
decencies  of  etiquette,  he  sprang  from  his  seat,  ex- 
pressed his  contempt  for  the  ecclesiastics  by  insult- 
ing gestures,  and  ended  by  flinging  his  hat  on  the 
ground  and  stamping  on  it.  That  conference  camo 
to  a  sudden  end. 

As  the  stay  of  the  prince  in  Madrid  now  seemed 
likely  to  be  protracted,  attendants  were  sent  him 
from  England  that  he  might  keep  up  some  show  of 
state.  But  the  Spanish  court  did  not  want  them, 
and  contrived  to  make  their  stay  so  unpleasant  and 
their  accommodations  so  poor,  that  Charles  soon 
packed  the  most  of  them  off  home  again. 

"  I  am  glad  to  get  away,"  said  one  of  these,  James 
Eliot  by  name,  to  the  prince;  "and  hope  that  your 
Highness  will  soon  leave  this  pestiferous  Spain.  It 
is  a  dangerous  place  to  alter  a  jnan  and  turn  him.  I 
myself  in  a  short  time  have  perceived  my  own  weak- 
ness,  and  am  almost  turned." 

"  What  motive  had  you?"  asked  Charles.  "  What 
have  3'ou  seen  that  should  turn  j'ou  ?" 

« :Marry,"  replied  Eliot,  "  when  I  was  in  England, 
I  turned  tho  whole  Bible  over  to  find  Purgatorj-, 
and  because  I  could  not  find  it  there  I  believed  there 
was  none.     But  now  that  I  have  come  to  Spain,  J 

II.— L  q  21 


242  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

have  found  it  here,  and  that  your  Highness  is  in  it ; 
■whence  that  you  may  be  released,  we,  your  High- 
ness's  servants,  who  are  going  to  Paradise,  will  offer 
unto  God  our  utmost  devotions." 

A  purgatory  it  was, — a  purgatory  lightened  for 
Charles  by  love,  he  playing  the  role  assigned  by 
Dante  to  Paolo,  though  the  infanta  was  little  in- 
clined to  imitate  Francesca  da  Eimini.  Buckingham 
fumed  and  fretted,  was  insolent  to  the  Spanish  minis- 
ters, and  sought  as  earnestly  to  get  Charles  out  of 
Madrid  as  he  had  done  to  get  him  there,  and  less 
successfully.  But  the  love-stricken  prince  had  be- 
come impracticable.  His  fancy  deepened  as  the 
days  passed  by.  Such  was  the  ardor  of  his  passion, 
that  on  one  day  in  May  he  broke  headlong  through 
the  rigid  wall  of  Spanish  etiquette,  by  leaping  into 
the  garden  in  which  the  lady  of  his  love  was  walk- 
ing, and  addressing  her  in  words  of  passion.  The 
startled  girl  shrieked  and  fled,  and  Charles  was  with 
difficulty  hindered  from  following  her. 

Only  one  end  could  come  of  all  this.  Spain  and 
the  pope  had  the  game  in  their  own  hands.  Charles 
had  fairly  given  himself  over  to  them,  and  his  ardent 
passion  for  the  lady  weakened  all  his  powers  of  re- 
sistance. King  James  was  a  slave  to  his  son,  and 
incapable  of  refusing  him  anything.  The  end  of  it 
all  was  that  the  English  king  agreed  that  all  perse- 
cution of  Catholics  in  England  should  come  to  an 
end,  without  a  thought  as  to  what  the  parliament 
might  say  to  this  hasty  promise,  and  Chai'les  signed 
papers  assenting  to  all  the  Spanish  demands,  except- 
ing  that  he  should  himself  become  a  Catholic. 


love's  knight-errant.  243 

The  year  wore  wearily  on  till  August  was  reached. 
England  and  her  king  were  by  this  time  wildly 
anxious  that  the  prince  should  return.  Yet  he  hung 
on  with  the  pitiful  indecision  that  marked  his  whole 
life,  and  it  is  not  unlikely  that  the  incident  which  in- 
duced him  to  leave  Spain  at  last  was  a  wager  with 
Bristol,  who  offered  to  risk  a  ring  worth  one  thou- 
sand pounds  that  the  prince  would  spend  his  Christ- 
mas in  Madrid. 

It  was  at  length  decided  that  he  should  return,  the 
2d  of  September  being  the  day  fixed  upon  for  his  de- 
parture. He  and  the  king  enjoyed  a  last  hunt  to- 
gether, lunched  under  the  shadows  of  the  trees,  and 
bude  each  other  a  seemingly  loving  farewell.  Buck- 
ingham's good-by  was  of  a  different  character.  It 
took  the  shape  of  a  violent  quarrel  with  Olivares,  the 
Spanish  minister  of  state.  And  home  again  set  out 
the  brace  of  knights-errant,  not  now  in  the  simple 
fashion  of  Tom  and  John  Smith,  but  wiih  much  of  the 
processional  display  of  a  royal  cortege.  Then  it  was 
a  gay  ride  of  two  ardent  youths  across  France  and 
Spain,  one  filled  with  thoughts  of  love,  the  other 
with  the  spirit  of  adventure.  Now  it  was  a  stately, 
almost  a  regal,  movement,  with  anger  as  its  source, 
disappointment  as  its  companion.  Charles  had  fairly 
sold  himself  to  Philip,  and  yet  was  returning  homo 
without  his  bride.  Buckingham,  the  nobler  nature 
of  the  two,  had  by  his  petulance  and  arrogance  kept 
himself  in  hot  water  with  the  Spanish  court.  Alto- 
gether, the  adventure  had  not  been  a  success. 

The  bride  Avas  to  follow  the  prince  to  England  m 
the  spring.     But  the  farther  he  got  from  Madrid  the 


244  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

less  Charles  felt  that  he  wanted  her.  His  love, 
which  had  grown  as  he  came,  diminished  as  he  went. 
It  had  then  spread  over  his  fancy  like  leaves  on  a 
tree  in  spring ;  now  it  fell  from  him  like  leaves  from 
an  October  tree.  It  had  been  largely  made  up,  at 
the  best,  of  fancy  and  vanity,  and  blown  to  a  white 
heat  by  the  obstacles  which  had  been  thrown  in  his 
way.  It  cooled  with  every  mile  that  took  him  from 
Madrid. 

To  the  port  of  Santander  moved  the  princely  train. 
As  it  entered  that  town,  the  bells  were  rung  and 
cannon  fired  in  welcoming  peals.  A  fleet  lay  there, 
sent  to  conve}'  him  home,  one  of  the  ships  having  a 
gorgeously-decorated  cabin  for  the  infanta, — who 
was  not  there  to  occupy  it. 

Late  in  the  day  as  it  was,  Charles  was  so  eager  ta 
leave  the  detested  soil  of  Spain,  that  he  put  off  in  a 
boat  after  nightfall  for  the  fleet. '  It  was  a  movement 
not  without  its  peril.  The  wind  blew,  the  tide  was 
strong,  the  rowers  proved  helpless  against  its  force, 
and  the  boat  with  its  precious  freight  would  have 
been  carried  out  to  sea  had  not  one  of  the  sailors 
managed  to  seize  a  rope  that  hung  by  the  side  of  a 
ship  which  they  were  being  rapidly  swept  past.  In 
a  few  minutes  more  the  English  prince  was  on  an 
English  deck. 

For  some  days  the  wind  kept  the  fleet  At  Santan- 
der. All  was  cordiality  and  festivity  between  Eng- 
lish and  Spaniards.  Charles  concealed  his  change 
of  heart.  Buckingham  repressed  his  insolence.  On 
the  18th  of  September  the  fleet  weighed  anchor  and 
left  the  coast  of  Spain.     On  the  5th  of  October  Prine3 


i.ove's  kmght-errant.  245 

Charles  landed  at  Portsmouth,  his  romantic  escapade 
happily  at  an  end. 

He  hurried  to  ]jondon  with  all  speed.  But  rapidly 
as  he  went,  the  news  of  his  coming  had  spread 
before  him.  He  came  without  a  Spanish  bride.  The 
peojjle,  who  despised  the  whole  burliness  and  feared 
its  results,  were  wild  with  delight.  When  Charles 
landed  from  the  barge  in  which  he  had  crossed  the 
Thames,  he  found  the  streets  thronged  with  applaud- 
ing people,  he  heard  the  bells  on  every  side  merrily 
ringing,  be  heard  the  enthusiastic  people  shouting, 
"  Long  live  the  Prince  of  "Wales !"  All  London  was 
wild  with  delight.  Their  wandering  prince  had  been 
lost  and  was  found  again. 

The  day  was  turned  into  a  holiday.  Tables  loaded 
with  food  and  wine  were  placed  in  the  streets  by 
wealthy  citizens,  that  all  who  wished  might  partake. 
Prisoners  for  debt  were  set  at  liberty,  their  debts 
being  paid  by  persons  unknown  to  them.  A  cart- 
load of  felons  on  its  way  to  the  gallows  at  Tyburn 
was  turned  back,  it  happening  to  cross  the  prince's 
path,  and  its  inmates  gained  an  unlooked-for  respite. 
When  night  fell  the  town  blazed  out  in  illumination, 
candles  being  set  in  every  window,  while  bonfires 
blazed  in  the  streets.  In  the  short  distance  between 
St.  Paul's  and  London  Bridge  flamed  more  than  a 
hundred  piles.  Carts  laden  with  wood  were  seized 
by  the  populace,  the  hoi-ses  taken  out  and  the  torch 
applied,  cart  and  load  together  adding  their  tribute 
of  flame.  Never  had  so  sudden  and  spontaneous 
an  ebullition  of  joy  broken  out  in  London  streets. 
The  return  of  the  prince  was  a  strikingly  different 
21* 


246  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

affair  from  that  mad  ride  m  disguise  a  few  months 
before,  which  spread  suspicion  at  every  step,  and 
filled  England  with  rage  when  the  story  bect.mo 
known. 

We  have  told  the  story  of  the  prince's  adventure ; 
a  few  words  will  tell  the  end  of  his  love-affair  As 
for  Buckingham,  he  had  left  England  as  a  marquis, 
he  came  back  with  the  title  of  duke.  King  James 
had  thus  rewarded  him  for  abetting  the  folly  of 
his  son.  The  Spanish  marriage  never  took  place. 
Charles's  love  had  been  lost  in  his  journey  home. 
He  brought  scarce  a  shred  of  it  back  to  London. 
The  temper  of  the  English  people  in  regard  to  the 
concessions  to  the  Catholics  was  too  outspokenly 
hostile  to  be  trifled  with.  Obstacles  arose  in  the  way 
of  the  marriage.  It  was  postponed.  Difficulties 
appeared  on  both  sides  the  water.  Before  the  year 
ended  all  hopes  of  it  were  over,  and  the  negotiations 
at  an  end.  Prince  Charles  finally  took  for  wife  that 
Princess  Henrietta  Maria  of  France  whom  he  and 
Buckingham  had  first  seen  dancing  in  a  royal  masque, 
during  their  holiday  visit  in  disguise  to  Paris.  The 
romance  of  his  life  was  over.  The  reality  was  soon 
to  begin. 


THE  TAKING   OF  PONTEFRACT 
CASTLE. 

On  the  top  of  a  lofty  hill,  with  a  broad  outlook 
over  tho  counties  of  Yorkshire,  Lincolnshire,  and 
Nottinghamshire,  stood  Pontefract  Castle,  a  strong 
work  belonging  to  the  English  crown,  but  now  in 
the  hands  of  Cromwell's  men,  and  garrisoned  by 
Boldiers  of  the  Parliamentary  ai-my.  Tho  war,  indeed, 
was  at  an  end.  King  Charles  in  prison,  and  Cromwell 
lord  of  the  realm,  so  that  further  resistance  seemed 
useless. 

But  now  came  a  rising  in  Scotland  in  favor  of  tho 
king,  and  many  of  the  royalists  took  heart  again, 
hoping  that,  while  Cromwell  was  busy  with  tho 
Scotch,  there  would  be  risings  elsewhere.  In  their 
view  the  war  was  once  more  afoot,  and  it  would  be 
a  notable  deed  to  take  Pontefract  Castle  from  its 
Puritan  garrison  and  hold  it  for  the  king.  Such  were 
the  inciting  causes  to  the  events  of  which  we  have 
now  to  speak. 

There  was  a  Colonel  ^^forrice,  who,  as  a  very  young 
man,  had  been  an  oflicer  in  the  king's  arm}'.  Ho 
afterwards  joined  the  army  of  the  Parliament,  where 
he  made  friends  and  did  some  bold  service.  Later 
on,  the  strict  discipline  of  Ci'omweli's  army  oflFeuded 

247 


248  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

this  versatile  gentleman,  and  he  threw  up  his  com- 
mission and  retired  to  his  estates,  where  he  enjoyed 
life  with  much  of  the  Cavalier  freedom. 

Among  his  most  intimate  friends  was  the  Parlia- 
mentary governor  of  Pontefract  Castle,  who  enjoyed 
his  society  so  greatly  that  he  would  often  have  him 
at  the  castle  for  a  week  at  a  time,  they  sleeping  to- 
gether like  brothers.  The  confiding  governor  had 
no  suspicion  of  the  treasonable  disposition  of  his  bed- 
fellow, and,  though  warned  against  him,  would  not 
listen  to  complaint. 

Morrice  was  familiar  with  the  project  to  surprise 
the  fortress,  at  the  head  of  which  was  Sir  Marma- 
duke  Langdale,  an  old  officer  of  the  king.  To  one 
of  the  conspirators  he  said, — 

"  Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  this  matter.  I 
will  surprise  the  castle  for  you,  whenever  you  think 
the  time  ripe  for  it." 

This  gentleman  thereupon  advised  the  conspirators 
to  wait,  and  to  trust  him  to  find  means  to  enter  the 
stronghold.  As  they  had  much  confidence  in  him, 
they  agreed  to  his  request,  without  questioning  him 
too  closely  for  the  grounds  of  his  assurance.  Mean- 
while, Morrice  went  to  work. 

"  I  should  counsel  you  to  take  great  care  that  you 
have  none  but  faithful  men  in  the  garrison,"  he  said 
to  the  governor.  "  I  have  reason  to  suspect  that 
there  are  men  in  this  neighborhood  who  have  designs 
upon  the  castle ;  among  them  some  of  your  frequent 
visitors." 

He  gave  him  a  list  of  7iames,  some  of  them  really 
conspirators,  others  sound  friends  of  the  Parliament, 


THE   TAKING   OP   PONTEFRACT  CASTLE.  249 

"You  need  hardly  bo  troubled  about  these  fellows, 
however,"  he  said.  "  I  have  a  friend  in  their  counsel, 
and  am  sure  to  be  kept  posted  as  to  their  plans. 
And  for  that  matter  I  can,  in  short  notice,  brin<^  you 
forty  or  fifty  safe  men  to  strengthen  your  garrison, 
should  occasion  arise." 

lie  made  himself  also  familiar  with  the  soldiers  of 
the  garrison,  playing  and  drinking  with  them ;  and 
when  sleeping  there  would  often  rise  at  night  and 
visit  the  guards,  sometimes  inducing  the  governor, 
by  misrc])resentations,  to  dismiss  a  faithful  man,  and 
replace  him  by  one  in  his  own  confidence. 

So  the  affair  went  on,  Morrice  laying  his  plans 
with  much  skill  and  caution.  As  it  proved,  however, 
the  conspirators  became  impatient  to  execute  the 
affair  before  it  was  fully  ripe.  Scotland  was  in  arms ; 
there  were  alarms  elsewhere  in  the  kingdom  ;  Crom- 
well was  likely  to  have  enough  to  occupy  him ;  delay 
seemed  needless.  They  told  the  gentleman  who  had 
asked  them  to  wait  that  he  must  act  at  once.  lie 
in  his  turn  advised  Morrice,  who  lost  no  time  in  com- 
pleting his  plans. 

On  a  certain  night  fixed  by  him  the  surprise-party 
were  to  be  ready  with  ladders,  which  they  must  erect 
in  two  places  against  the  wall.  Morrice  would  see 
that  safe  sentinels  were  posted  at  these  points.  At 
a  signal  agi-ced  upon  they  were  to  mount  the  ladders 
and  break  into  the  castle. 

The  night  came.  Morrice  was  in  the  castle, 
where  he  shared  the  governor's  bed.  At  the  hour 
arranged  he  rose  and  sought  the  walls.  He  was  just 
in  time  to  prevent  ;he  failure  of  the  entcprise.    Un. 


250  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

known  to  him,  one  of  the  sentinels  had  been  changed. 
Those  without  gave  the  signal.  One  of  the  sentinels 
answered  it.  The  surprise-party  ran  forward  with 
both  ladders. 

Morrice,  a  moment  afterwards,  heard  a  cry  of 
alarm  from  the  other  sentinel,  and  hasting  forward 
found  him  running  back  to  call  the  guard.  He  looked 
at  him.  It  was  the  wrong  man  !  There  had  been 
some  mistake. 

"  What  is  amiss?"  he  asked. 

"There  are  men  under  the  wall,"  replied  the  sol- 
dier.    "  Some  villany  is  afoot." 

"  Oh,  come,  that  cannot  be." 

"  It  is.     I  saw  them." 

"  I  don't  believe  you,  sirrah,"  said  Morrice,  severely. 
"You  have  been  frightened  by  a  shadow.  Come, 
show  mo  the  place.  Don't  make  yourself  a  laughing- 
stock for  your  fellows." 

The  sentinel  turned  and  led  the  way  to  the  top  of 
the  wall.     He  pointed  down. 

"There;  do  you  see?"  he  asked. 

His  words  stopped  there,  for  at  that  instant  he 
found  himself  clasped  by  strong  arms,  and  in  a 
minute  more  was  thrown  toppling  from  the  wall. 
Morrice  had  got  rid  of  the  dangerous  sentry. 

By  this  time  the  ladders  were  up,  and  some  of 
those  without  had  reached  the  top  of  the  wall.  They 
signalled  to  their  friends  at  a  distance,  and  rushed  to 
the  court  of  guard,  whose  inmates  they  speedily  mas- 
tered, after  knocking  two  or  three  of  them  upon  the 
head.  The  gates  were  now  thrown  open,  and  a  strong 
body  of  horse  and  foot  who  waited  outside  rode  in. 


THE   TAKING   OF   PONTEFRACT  CASTLE.  251 

The  castle  was  won.  Morrice  led  a  party  to  the 
governor's  chamber,  told  him  that  "the  castle  waa 
eurprisod  and  himself  a  prisoner,"  and  advised  him 
to  surrender.  The  worthy  governor  seized  his  arms 
and  dealt  some  blows,  but  was  quickly  disarmed,  and 
Pontcfract  was  again  a  castle  of  the  kmg. 

So  ended  the  first  act  in  this  drama.  There  was 
a  second  act  to  be  jjlayed,  in  which  Cromwell  was  to 
take  a  hand.  The  garrison  was  quickly  reinforced 
by  royalists  from  the  surrounding  counties ;  the 
castle  was  well  provisioned  and  its  fortifications 
strengthened ;  contributions  were  raised  fi'om  neigh- 
boring parts;  and  the  marauding  excursions  of  the 
garrison  soon  became  so  annoying  that  an  earnest 
appeal  was  made  to  Cromwell,  "  that  he  would  make 
it  the  business  of  his  army  to  reduce  Pontefract," 

Just  then  Cromwell  had  other  business  for  his 
army.  The  Scots  were  in  the  field.  He  was  march- 
ing to  reduce  them.  Pontefract  must  wait.  He 
sent,  however,  two  or  three  regiments,  which,  with 
aid  from  the  counties,  he  deemed  would  be  sufficient 
for  the  work. 

Events  moved  rapidly.  Before  the  Parliamen- 
tarian troops  under  Eainsborough  i-cachcd  the  castle, 
Cromwell  had  met  and  defeated  the  army  of  Scots, 
taking,  among  other  prisoners,  Sir  Marmaduke  Lang- 
dale,  whom  the  Parliament  threatened  to  make  "  an 
example  of  their  justice," 

The  men  of  Pontefract  looked  on  Sir  Marmaduke 
as  their  leader,  Painsborough  was  approaching  the 
castle,  but  was  still  at  some  distance.  It  was  deemed 
a  worthy  enterprise  to  take  him  prisoner,  if  possible. 


252  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

and  hold  him  as  hostage  for  Sir  JVIarmaduke.  Mor- 
rice  took  on  himself  this  diflEicuit  and  dangerous 
enterprise. 

At  nightfall,  with  a  party  of  twelve  picked  and 
choice  men,  he  left  the  castle  and  made  his  way 
towards  the  town  which  Eaiusborough  then  occu- 
pied. The  whole  party  knew  the  roads  well,  and 
about  daybreak  reached  the  point  for  which  they 
had  aimed, — the  common  road  leading  from  York. 
The  movement  had  been  shrewdly  planned.  The 
guards  looked  for  no  enemy  from  this  direction,  and 
carelessly  asked  the  party  of  strange  horsemen 
*'  whence  they  came." 

The  answer  was  given  with  studied  ease  and  care- 
lessness. 

"  Where  is  your  general  ?"  asked  Morrice.  "  1 
have  a  letter  for  him  from  Cromwell." 

The  guard  sent  one  of  their  number  with  the  party 
to  show  them  where  Eaiusborough  might  be  found, 
— at  the  best  inn  of  the  town.  "When  the  inn-gate 
was  opened  in  response  to  their  demand,  three  only 
of  the  party  entered.  The  others  rode  onward  to 
the  bridge  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  town,  on  the 
road  leading  to  Pontefract.  Here  they  found  a  guard 
of  horse  and  foot,  with  whom  they  entered  into 
easy  conversation. 

"  We  are  waiting  for  our  officer,"  they  said.  "  He 
went  in  to  speak  to  the  general.  Is  there  anything 
convenient  to  drink  ?     We  have  had  a  dry  ride." 

The  guards  sent  for  some  drink,  and,  it  being  now 
broad  day,  gave  over  their  vigilance,  some  of  the 
horse-soldiers   alighting,  while  the  footmen   sought 


THE   TAKING   OP   PONTEFRACT  CASTLE.  253 

their  court  of  guard,  fancying  that  their  hour  of 
duty  was  passed. 

Meanwhile,  tragical  work  was  going  on  at  the  inn. 
Nobody  had  been  awake  there  but  the  man  who 
opened  the  gate.  They  asked  him  where  the  geii- 
eral  lay.  He  pointed  up  to  the  chamber-door,  and 
two  of  them  ascended  the  stairs,  leaving  the  third 
to  hold  the  horses  and  in  conversation  with  the  sol- 
dier who  had  acted  as  their  guide. 

Eainsborough  was  still  in  bed,  but  awakened  on 
their  entrance  and  asked  them  who  they  were  and 
what  they  wanted. 

"  It  is  yourself  we  want,"  they  replied.  "  You  are 
our  prisoner.  It  is  for  you  to  choose  whether  you 
prefer  to  be  killed,  or  quietly  to  put  on  your  clothes, 
mount  a  horse  which  is  ready  below  for  you,  and  go 
with  us  to  Pontefract." 

He  looked  at  them  in  surprise.  They  evidently 
meant  what  they  said ;  their  voices  were  firm,  their 
arms  ready;  he  rose  and  dressed  quickly.  This  com- 
pleted, they  led  him  down-stairs,  one  of  them  carry- 
ing his  sword. 

When  they  reached  the  street  only  one  man  waa 
to  be  seen.  The  soldier  of  the  guard  had  been  sent 
away  to  order  them  some  breakfast.  The  prisoner, 
seeing  one  man  only  where  he  had  looked  for  a  troop, 
Btruggled  to  escape  and  called  loudly  for  help. 

It  was  evident  that  ho  could  not  be  carried  off; 
the  moment  was  critical ;  a  few  minutes  might  bring 
a  force  that  it  would  be  madness  to  resist ;  but  they 
had  not  come  thus  far  and  taken  this  risk  for  nothing. 
He  would  not  go;  they  had  no  time  to  force  him; 
22 


254  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

only  one  thing  remained :  they  ran  him  through 
with  their  swords  and  left  him  dead  upon  the  ground 
Then,  mounting,  they  rode  in  haste  for  the  bridge. 

Those  there  knew  what  they  were  to  do.  The 
ajtproach  of  their  comrades  was  the  signal  for  action. 
They  immediately  drew  their  weapons  and  attacked 
those  with  whcm  they  had  been  in  pleasant  con- 
versation.  In  a  brief  time  several  of  the  guard 
were  killed  and  the  others  in  full  flight.  The  road 
was  clear.  The  others  came  up.  A  minute  more 
and  they  were  away,  in  full  flight,  upon  the  shortest 
route  to  Pontefract,  leaving  the  soldiers  of  the  town 
in  consternation,  for  the  general  was  soon  found 
dead,  with  no  one  to  say  how  he  had  been  killed. 
Not  a  soul  had  seen  the  tragic  deed.  In  due  time 
Morrice  and  his  men  reached  Pontefract,  without 
harm  to  horse  or  man,  but  lacking  the  hoped-for 
prisoner,  and  having  left  death  and  vengeance  be- 
hind them. 

So  far  all  had  gone  well  with  the  garrison.  Hence- 
forth all  promised  to  go  ill.  Pontefract  was  the  one 
place  in  England  that  held  out  against  Cromwell, 
the  last  stronghold  of  the  king.  And  its  holders  had 
angered  the  great  leader  of  the  Ironsides  by  killing 
one  of  his  most  valued  ofiicers.  Ptetribution  was 
demanded.  General  Lambert  was  sent  with  a  strong 
force  to  reduce  the  castle. 

The  works  were  strong,  and  not  easily  to  be  taken 
by  assault.  They  might  be  taken  by  hunger.  Lam- 
bert soon  had  the  castle  surrounded,  cooping  the 
garrison  closely  within  its  own  precincts. 

Against  this  they  protested, — in  the  martial  man- 


THE  TAKING   OF   PONTEFRACT  CASTLE.  255 

ner.  Many  bold  sallies  were  made,  in  which  num- 
bers on  both  sides  lost  their  lives.  Lambert  soon 
discovered  that  certain  persons  in  the  country  around 
were  in  correspondence  with  the  garrison,  scndini^ 
them  information.  Of  these  he  made  short  work, 
according  to  the  militi.ry  ethics  of  that  day.  They 
were  seized  and  hanged  within  sight  of  the  castle; 
among  them  being  two  divines  and  some  women  of 
note,  friends  of  the  besieged.  Some  might  call  this 
murder.     They  called  it  war, — a  salutary  exam})le. 

Finding  themselves  closely  confined  within  their 
walls,  their  friends  outside  hanged,  no  hoj^e  of  relief, 
starvation  their  ultimate  fate,  the  garrison  concluded 
at  length  that  it  was  about  time  to  treat  for  terms 
of  peace.  All  England  besides  was  in  the  hands  of 
Cromwell  and  the  Parliament ;  there  was  nothing  to 
oe  gained  by  this  one  fortress  holding  out,  unless  it 
were  the  gallows.  They  therefore  offered  to  deliver 
up  the  castle,  if  they  might  have  honorable  con- 
ditions.    If  not,  they  said, — 

"  We  are  still  well  stocked  with  provisions,  and  can 
hold  out  for  a  long  time.  If  we  are  assured  of  par- 
don we  will  yield ;  if  not,  we  are  ready  to  die,  and 
will  not  sell  our  lives  for  less  than  a  good  price." 

'•I  know  3^ou  for  gallant  men,"  replied  Lambert, 
"and  am  read}'  to  grant  life  and  liberty  to  as  many 
of  you  as  I  can.  But  there  are  six  among  j^ou  whoso 
lives  I  cannot  save.  I  am  sorry  for  this,  for  they 
are  brave  men ;  but  mj'-  hands  are  bound." 

*'  "Who  are  the  six  ?  And  what  have  they  done  that 
they  should  be  beyond  mercy?" 

"  They  were   concerned    in    the    death   of  Eaias- 


256  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

borough.     I  do  not  desire  their  death,  but  Cromwell 
is  incensed  against  them." 

lie  named  the  six.  They  were  Colonel  Morrice, 
Sir  John  Digbj',  and  four  others  who  had  been  in  the 
party  of  twelve. 

"  These  must  be  delivered  up  without  conditions," 
he  continued.  "The  rest  of  you  may  return  to  your 
homes,  and  apply  to  the  Parhament  for  I'elease  from 
all  prosecution.     In  this  I  will  lend  you  my  aid." 

The  leaders  of  the  garrison  debated  this  proposal, 
and  after  a  short  time  returned  their  answer. 

"  We  acknowledge  your  clemency  and  courtesy," 
they  said,  "and  would  be  glud  to  accept  your  terms 
did  they  not  involve  a  base  desertion  of  some  of  our 
fellows.  We  cannot  do  as  you  say,  but  will  make 
this  offer.  Give  us  six  days,  and  let  these  six  men 
do  what  they  can  to  dehver  themselves,  we  to  have 
the  privilege  of  assisting  them.  This  much  we  ask 
for  our  honor." 

"  Do  you  agree  to  surrender  the  castle  and  all 
within  it  at  the  end  of  that  time?"  asked  Lambert. 

"  We  pledge  ourselves  to  that." 

"  Then  I  accept  your  proposal.  Six  days'  grace 
shall  bo  allowed  you." 

Just  what  they  proposed  to  do  for  the  release  of 
their  proecribed  companions  did  not  appear.  The 
castle  was  closely  and  strongly  invested,  and  these 
men  were  neither  rats  nor  birds.  IIow  did  they  hope 
to  escape  ? 

The  first  day  of  the  six  passed  and  nothing  was 
done.  A  sti'ong  party  of  the  garrison  had  made  its 
appearance  two  or  three  times,  as  if  resolved  upon  a 


THE   TAKING   OV  PONTEFRACT  CASTLE.  257 

Bally;  but  each  time  they  retired,  apparently  not 
liking  the  outlook.  On  the  second  day  they  were 
bolder.  They  suddenly  appeared  at  a  different  point 
from  that  threatened  the  day  before,  and  attacked 
the  besiegers  with  such  spirit  as  to  drive  them  from 
their  posts,  both  sides  losing  men.  In  the  end  the 
sallying  party  was  driven  back,  but  two  of  the  six — 
Morrice  being  one — had  broken  through  and  made 
their  escape.     The  other  four  were  forced  to  retii'e. 

Two  days  now  passed  without  a  movement  on  the 
part  of  the  garrison.  Four  of  the  six  men  still  re- 
mained in  the  castle.  The  evening  of  the  fourth 
day  came.  The  gloom  of  night  gathered.  Suddenly 
a  strong  party  from  the  garrison  emerged  from  a 
sally-port  and  rushed  upon  the  lines  of  the  besiegers 
with  such  fire  and  energy  that  they  were  for  a  time 
broken,  and  two  more  of  the  proscribed  escaped. 
The  others  were  driven  back. 

The  morning  of  the  fifth  day  dawned.  Four  daj's 
had  gone,  and  four  of  the  proscribed  men  were  free. 
How  were  the  other  two  to  gain  their  liberty?  The 
method  so  far  pursued  could  scarcely  be  successful 
again.  The  besiegers  would  be  too  heedfully  on  the 
alert.  Some  of  the  garrison  had  lost  their  lives  in 
aiding  the  four  to  escape.  It  was  too  dangerous  an 
experiment  to  be  repeated,  with  their  lives  assured 
them  if  they  remained  in  the  castle.  What  was  to 
be  done  for  the  safety  of  the  other  two  ?  The  matter 
was  thorouglily  debated  and  a  plan  devised. 

On  the  morning  of  the  sixth  day  the  besieged  made 
a  great  show  of  joy,  calling  from  the  walls  that  their 
six  friends  had  gone,  and  that  they  would  be  ready 
II.— r  22* 


258  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

to  surrender  the  next  day.  This  news  was  bonio  to 
Lambert,  who  did  not  believe  a  word  of  it,  the  escape 
of  the  four  men  not  having  been  observed.  Mean- 
while, the  garrison  proceeded  to  put  in  effect  their 
stratagem. 

The  castle  was  a  large  one,  its  rooms  many  and 
Bpacious.  Nor  was  it  all  in  repair.  Here  and  there 
walls  had  fallen  and  not  been  rebuilt,  and  abundance 
of  waste  stones  strewed  the  ground  in  these  locali- 
ties. Seeking  a  place  which  was  least  likely  to  bo 
visited,  they  walled  up  the  two  proscribed  men, 
building  the  wall  in  such  a  manner  that  air  could 
enter  and  that  they  might  have  some  room  for  move- 
ment. Giving  them  food  enough  to  last  for  thirty 
days,  they  closed  the  chamber,  and  left  the  two  men 
in  their  tomb-like  retreat. 

The  sixth  day  came.  The  hour  fixed  arrived.  The 
gates  were  thrown  open.  Lambert  and  his  men 
marched  in  and  took  possession  of  the  fortress.  The 
garrison  was  marshalled  before  him,  and  a  strict 
search  made  among  them  for  the  six  men,  whom  he 
fully  expected  to  find.  They  were  not  there.  The 
castle  was  closely  searched.  They  could  not  be 
found.  He  was  compelled  to  admit  that  the  garrison 
had  told  him  the  truth,  and  that  the  six  had  indeed 
escaped. 

For  this  Lambert  did  not  seem  in  any  sense  sorry. 
The  men  were  brave.  Their  act  had  been  one  allow 
able  in  war.  He  was  secretly  rather  glad  that  they 
had  escaped,  and  treated  the  others  courteously,  per- 
mitting them  to  leave  the  castle  with  their  eifecta 
and  seek  their  homes,  as  he  had  promised.     And 


THE   TAKING   OF   PONTEFRACT  CASTLE.  259 

80  ended  the  taking  and  retaking  of  Pontefraci 
Castlo. 

It  was  the  last  stronghold  of  the  king  in  England, 
and  was  not  likely  to  be  used  again  for  that  purpose. 
But  to  prevent  this,  Lambert  handled  it  in  such 
fashion  that  it  was  left  a  vast  pile  of  ruins,  unfit  to 
harbor  a  garrison.  He  then  drew  off  his  troops,  not 
having  discovered  the  concealed  men  in  this  proceed- 
ing. Ten  da}s  passed.  Then  the  two  flung  down 
their  wall  and  emerged  among  the  ruins.  They  found 
the  castle  a  place  for  bats,  uninhabited  by  man,  but 
lost  no  time  in  seeking  less  suspicious  quarters. 

Of  the  six  men,  Morrice  was  afterwards  taken  and 
executed;  the  others  remained  free.  Sir  John  Digby 
lived  to  become  a  favored  member  of  the  court  of 
Charles  II.  As  for  Sir  Marmaduke  Langdale,  to 
whose  imprisonment  Eainsborough  owed  his  death, 
he  escaped  from  his  prison  in  Nottingham  Castle, 
and  made  his  way  beyond  the  seas,  not  to  loturn 
until  England  again  had  a  kiiig. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  ROYAL 
FUGITIVE, 

It  was  early  September  of  1651,  the  year  that 
tolled  the  knell  of  royalty  in  England.  In  all  direc- 
tions from  the  fatal  field  of  Worcester  panic-stricken 
fugitives  were  flying ;  in  all  directions  blood-craving 
victors  were  pursuing.  Charles  I.  had  lost  his  head 
for  his  blind  obstinacy,  two  years  before.  Charles  II., 
crowned  king  by  the  Scotch,  had  made  a  gallant  fight 
for  the  throne.  But  Cromwell  was  his  opponent,  and 
Cromwell  carried  victory  on  his  banners.  The  young 
king  had  invaded  England,  reached  "Worcester,  and 
there  felt  the  heavy  hand  of  the  Protector  and  his  Iron- 
sides. A  fierce  day's  struggle,  a  defeat,  a  flight,  and 
kingship  in  England  was  at  an  end  while  Cromwell 
lived ;  the  last  scion  of  royalty  was  a  flying  fugitive. 

At  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  of  that  fatal  day, 
Charles,  the  boy-king,  discrowned  by  battle,  was 
flying  through  St.  Martin's  Gate  from  a  city  whose 
streets  were  filled  with  the  bleeding  bodies  of  his  late 
supporters.  Just  outside  the  town  he  tried  to  rally 
his  men  ;  but  in  vain,  no  fight  was  left  in  their  scared 
hearts.  Nothing  remained  but  flight  at  panic  speed, 
for  the  bloodhounds  of  war  were  on  his  track,  and 
if  caught  by  those  stern  Parliamentarians  he  mi^ht 
260 


THE   ADVENTURES   OF   A   ROYAL   FUGITIVE.       261 

be  given  the  short  shriving  of  his  beheaded  father. 
Away  wont  the  despairing  prince  with  a  few  fol- 
lowers, riding  for  life,  flinging  from  liim  as  he  rode 
his  blue  ribbon  and  garter  and  all  his  princely  orna- 
ments, lest  pursuers  should  know  him  by  these 
insignia  of  royalty.  On  for  twelve  hours  Charles  and 
his  companions  galloped  at  racing  speed,  onward 
through  the  whole  night  following  that  day  of  blood 
and  woe ;  and  at  break  of  day  on  September  4  they 
reached  Whiteladies,  a  friendly  house  of  refuge  in 
Severn's  fertile  valley. 

The  story  of  the  after-adventures  of  the  fugitive 
prince  is  so  replete  with  hair-breadth  escapes,  dis- 
guises, refreshing  instances  of  fidelity,  and  startling 
incidents,  as  to  render  it  one  of  the  most  romantic 
talcs  to  be  found  in  English  histor3^  A  thousand 
pounds  were  set  upon  his  head,  j^et  none,  peasant  or 
peer,  proved  false  to  him.  lie  was  sheltered  alike 
in  cottage  and  hall ;  more  than  a  score  of  people 
knew  of  his  route,  yet  not  a  word  of  betrayal  was 
spoken,  not  a  thought  of  betrayal  was  entertained; 
and  the  agents  of  the  Protector  vainly  scoured  the 
country  in  all  directions  for  the  princely  fugitive, 
who  found  himself  surrounded  b}^  a  loyalty  worthy 
a  better  man,  and  was  at  last  enabled  to  leave  the 
country  in  Cromwell's  despite. 

Let  us  follow  the  fugitive  prince  in  his  flight. 
Reaching  Whitoladies,  he  found  a  loyal  friend  in  its 
proprietor.  No  sooner  was  it  known  in  the  mansion 
that  the  field  of  Worcester  had  been  lost,  and  that 
the  flying  prince  had  sought  shelter  within  its  walla, 
than  all  was  haste  and  excitement. 


2G2  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

"  You  must  not  remain  here,"  declared  Mr,  Gifford, 
one  of  his  companions.  "The  house  is  too  open. 
The  pursuers  will  be  here  within  the  hour.  Measures 
for  your  safety  must  be  taken  at  once." 

"The  first  of  which  is  disguise,"  said  Charles. 

His  long  hair  was  immediately  cut  off,  his  face  ana 
bands  stained  a  dark  hue,  and  the  coarse  and  thread- 
bare clothing  of  a  peasant  ])rovided  to  take  the  place 
of  his  rich  attire.  Thus  dressed  and  disguised,  the 
royal  fugitive  looked  like  anything  but  a  king. 

"  But  your  features  will  betray  j'ou,"  said  the 
cautious  Gifford.  "  Many  of  these  men  know  your 
face.     You  must  seek  a  safer  place  of  refuge." 

Hurried  movements  followed.  The  few  friends 
who  had  accompanied  Charles  took  to  the  road  again, 
knowing  that  their  presence  would  endanger  him, 
and  hoping  that  their  flight  might  lead  the  blood- 
hounds of  pursuit  astray.  They  gone,  the  loj-al 
master  of  Whiteladies  sent  for  certain  of  his  em- 
ployees whom  he  could  trust.  These  were  six 
brothers  named  Penderell,  laborers  and  woodmen 
in  his  service,  Catholics,  and  devoted  to  the  royal 
family. 

"  This  is  the  king,"  he  said  to  William  Penderell ; 
"  you  must  have  a  care  of  him,  and  preserve  him  as 
you  did  me." 

Thick  woodland  adjoined  the  mansion  of  "White- 
ladies.  -Into  this  the  youthful  prince  was  led  by 
Eichard  Penderell,  one  of  the  brothers.  It  was  now 
broad  day.  Through  the  forest  went  the  two  seeming 
peasants,  to  its  farther  side,  where  a  broad  highway 
ran  past.     Here,  peering  through  the  bushes,  they 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   A   ROYAL   FUGITIVE.       263 

saw  a  troop  of  horse  ride  b}',  evidently  not  old 
Boidicrs,  more  like  the  militia  who  made  up  part  of 
Cromwell's  army. 

These  countrified  warriors  looked  around  them. 
Should  they  enter  the  woods?  Some  of  the  Scottish 
rogues,  mayhap  Charles  Stuart,  their  royal  leader, 
himself,  might  bo  there  in  hiding.  But  it  had  begun 
to  rain,  and  by  good  fortune  the  shower  poured  down 
in  torrents  upon  the  woodland,  while  little  rain  fell 
upon  the  heath  beyond.  To  the  countrymen,  who 
had  but  begun  to  learn  the  trade  of  soldiers,  the 
certainty  of  a  dry  skin  was  better  that  the  forlorn 
chance  of  a  flying  prince.  They  rode  rapidly  on  to 
escape  a  drenching,  much  to  the  relief  of  the  Im-king 
observers. 

"The  rogues  are  hunting  me  close,"  said  the 
prince,  "and  by  our  Lady,  this  waterfall  isn't  of 
the  plcasantest.  Let  us  get  back  into  the  thick  of 
the  woods." 

Penderell  led  the  vray  to  a  dense  glade,  where  ho 
spread  a  blanket  which  he  had  brought  with  him 
under  one  of  the  most  thick-leaved  trees,  to  protect 
the  prince  from  the  soaked  ground.  Hither  his  sis- 
ter, Mrs.  Yates,  brought  a  supplj-  of  food,  consisting 
of  bread,  butter,  eggs,  and  milk.  Charles  looked  at 
her  with  grateful  eyes. 

"  My  good  woman,"  he  said,  "can  you  bo  faithful 
to  a  distressed  cavalier?" 

"I  will  die  sooner  than  betray  you,"  was  her 
devoted  answer. 

Charles  ate  his  rustic  meal  with  a  more  hopeful 
heart  than  ho  had  had  since  leaving  Worcester's  field. 


264  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

The  loyal  devotion  of  these  humble  friends  cheered 
him  up  greatly. 

As  night  came  on  the  rain  ceased.  No  sooner  had 
darkness  settled  upon  the  wood  than  the  prince  and 
his  guide  started  towards  the  Severn,  it  being  his 
purpose  to  make  his  way,  if  possible,  into  Wales,  in 
some  of  whose  ports  a  vessel  might  be  found  to  take 
him  abroad.  Their  route  took  them  past  a  mill.  It 
was  quite  dark,  yet  they  could  make  out  the  miller 
by  his  white  clothes,  as  he  sat  at  the  mill-door.  The 
flour-sprinkled  fellow  heard  their  footsteps  in  the 
darkness,  and  called  out, — 
"  "Who  goes  there  ?" 

"Neighbors  going  home,"  answered  Eichard  Pen- 
derell. 

"  If  you  be  neighbors,  stand,  or  I  will  knock  you 
down,"  cried  the  suspicious  miller,  reaching  behind 
the  door  for  his  cudgel. 

"  Follow  me,"  said  Penderell,  quietly,  to  the  prince. 
"  I  fancy  master  miller  is  not  alone." 

They  ran  swiftly  along  a  lane  and  up  a  hill,  open- 
ing a  gate  at  the  top  of  it.  The  miller  followed, 
yelling  out,  "  Eogues!  rogues!  Come  on,  lads ;  catch 
these  runaways." 

He  was  joined  by  several  men  who  came  from  the 
mill,  and  a  sharp  chase  began  along  a  deep  and  dirty 
Jane,  Charles  and  his  guide  running  until  they  were 
tired  out.  They  had  distanced  their  pursuers;  no 
sound  of  footsteps  could  be  heard  behind  them. 

"  Let  us  leap  the  hedge,  and  lie  behind  it  to  see  if 
they  are  still  on  our  track,"  said  the  prince. 
This  they  did,  and  lay  there  for  half  an  hour,  lis* 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   A   ROYAL   FUGITIVE.        205 

toning  intently  for  pursuers.  Then,  as  it  seemed 
evident  that  the  miller  and  his  men  had  given  up 
the  chase,  they  rose  and  walked  on. 

At  a  village  near  by  lived  an  honest  gentleman 
named  Woolfe,  who  had  hiding  places  in  his  house 
for  priests.  Day  was  at  hand,  and  travelling  dan- 
gerous. Penderell  proposed  to  go  on  and  ask  shelter 
from  this  person  for  an  English  gentleman  who 
dared  not  travel  by  day. 

"  Go,  but  look  that  you  do  not  betray  my  name," 
said  the  prince, 

Penderell  left  his  royal  charge  in  a  field,  sheltered 
under  a  hedge  beside  a  great  tree,  and  sought  Mr. 
Woolfe's  house,  to  whose  questions  he  replied  that 
the  person  seeking  shelter  was  a  fugitive  from  the 
battle  of  Worcester. 

"  Then  I  cannot  harbor  him,"  was  the  good  man's 
reply.  "It  is  too  dangerous  a  business.  I  will  not 
venture  my  neck  for  any  man,  unless  it  be  the  king 
himself." 

"  Then  you  will  for  this  man,  for  you  have  hit  tte 
mark ;  it  is  the  king,"  replied  the  guide,  quite  for- 
getting the  injunction  given  him. 

"  Bring  him,  then,  in  God's  name,"  said  Mr.  TToolfo. 
"I  will  risk  all  I  have  to  help  him." 

Charles  was  troubled  when  ho  heard  the  story  of 
bis  loose-tongucd  guide.  But  there  was  no  help  foi 
it  now.  The  villager  must  be  trusted.  They  sought 
Mr.  Woolfe's  house  by  the  rear  entrance,  the  prince 
receiving  a  warm  but  anxious  welcome  from  the  loyal 
old  gentleman. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  are  here,  for  the  place  is  peril- 
H  23 


266  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

ous,"  said  tlie  host.  "  There  are  two  companies  of 
militia  in  the  village  who  keep  a  guard  on  the  ferry, 
to  stop  any  one  from  esca^^ing  that  way.  As  for 
my  hiding-places,  they  have  all  been  discovered,  and 
it  is  not  safe  to  put  you  in  any  of  them.  I  can  offer 
you  no  shelter  but  in  my  barn,  where  you  can  lie 
behind  the  corn  and  hay." 

The  prince  was  grateful  even  for  this  sorry  shel- 
ter, and  spent  all  that  day  hidden  in  the  hay,  feast- 
ing on  some  cold  meat  which  his  host  had  given 
him.  The  next  night  he  set  out  for  Eichard  Pen- 
derell's  house,  Mr.  Woolfe  having  told  hma  that  it 
was  not  safe  to  try  the  Severn,  it  being  closely 
guarded  at  all  its  fords  and  bridges.  On  their  way 
they  came  again  near  the  mill.  Not  caring  to  be 
questioned  as  before  by  the  suspicious  miller,  they 
diverged  towards  the  river. 

"  Can  you  swim  ?"  asked  Charles  of  his  guide. 

"  Not  I ;  and  the  river  is  a  scurvy  one." 

"I've  a  mind  to  tr}'-  it,"  said  the  prince.  "It's  a 
small  stream  at  the  best,  and  I  may  help  you  over." 

They  crossed  some  fields  to  the  river-side,  and 
Charles  entered  the  water,  leaving  his  attendant  on 
the  bank.  He  waded  forward,  and  soon  found  that 
the  water  came  but  little  above  his  waist. 

''  Give  me  your  hand,"  he  said,  returning.  "  There's 
no  danger  of  drowning  in  this  water," 

Leading  his  guide,  he  soon  stood  on  the  safe  side 
of  that  river  the  passage  of  which  had  given  him 
BO  many  anxious  minutes. 

Towards  morning  they  reached  the  house  of  a  Mr, 
Whitgrave,  a  Catholic,  whom  the  prince  could  trust. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF  A   ROYAL   FUGITIVE.       267 

Here  he  found  in  biding  a  Major  Careless,  a  fugitive 
officer  from  the  defeated  army,  Charles  revealed 
himself  to  the  major,  and  held  a  conference  with 
him,  asking  him  what  he  had  best  do. 

"  It  will  be  very  dangerous  for  you  to  stay  here ; 
the  hue  and  cry  is  up,  and  no  place  is  safe  from 
searcii,"  said  the  major.  "  It  is  not  you  alone  they 
are  after,  but  all  of  our  side.  There  is  a  great  wood 
near  by  Boscobel  house,  but  I  would  not  like  to  ven- 
ture that,  either.  The  enemy  will  certainly  search 
there.  My  advice  is  that  we  climb  into  a  great, 
thick-leaved  oak-tree  that  stands  near  the  woods, 
but  in  an  open  place,  where  we  can  see  around  us." 

"  Faith,  I  like  your  scheme,  major,"  said  Charles, 
briskly.     "  It  is  thick  enough  to  hide  us,  you  think  ?" 

"Yes;  it  was  lopped  a  few  years  ago,  and  has 
grown  out  again  very  close  and  bushy.  We  will  be 
as  safe  there  as  behind  a  thick-set  hedjre." 

"  So  let  it  be,  then,"  said  the  prince. 

Obtaining  some  food  from  their  host, — bread, 
cheese,  and  small  beer,  enough  for  the  da}', — the  two 
fugitives,  Charles  and  Careless,  climbed  into  what 
has  since  been  known  as  the  "  roj'^al  oak,"  and  re- 
mained there  the  whole  day,  looking  down  in  safety 
on  soldiers  who  were  searching  the  wood  for  royal- 
ist fugitives.  From  time  to  time,  indeed,  parties  of 
search  passed  under  the  very  tree  which  bore  such 
royal  fruit,  and  the  prince  and  the  major  heard  their 
chat  with  no  little  amusement. 

Charles,  light-hearted  by  nature,  and  a  mere  boy 
in  years, — he  had  just  passed  twenty-one, — was  rising 
above  the   heavy  sense  of   depjession   which   had 


268  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

hitherto  home  him  down.  His  native  temperament 
was  beginning  to  declare  itself,  and  he  and  the  major, 
couched  like  squirrels  in  their  leafy  covert,  laughed 
quietly  to  themselves  at  the  baffled  seachers,  while 
they  ate  their  bread  and  cheese  with  fresh  appetites. 

When  night  had  fallen  they  left  the  tree,  and  the 
prince,  parting  with  his  late  companion,  sought  a 
neighboring  house  where  he  was  promised  shelter  in 
one  of  those  hiding-places  provided  for  proscribed 
priests.  Here  he  found  Lord  Wilraot,  one  of  the 
officers  who  had  escaped  with  him  from  the  fatal 
field  of  Worcester,  and  who  had  left  him  at  White- 
ladies. 

It  is  too  much  to  tell  in  detail  all  the  movements 
that  followed.  The  search  for  Prince  Charles  con- 
tinued with  unrelenting  severity.  Daily,  noble  and 
plebeian  officers  of  the  defeated  army  were  seized. 
The  country  was  being  scoured,  high  and  low.  Fi'e- 
quently  the  prince  saw  the  forms  or  heard  the  voices 
of  those  who  sought  him  diligently.  But  "  Will 
Jones,"  the  woodman,  was  not  easily  to  be  recognized 
as  Charles  Sluart,  the  prince.  He  was  dressed  in 
the  shabbiest  of  weather-worn  suits,  his  hair  cut 
short  to  his  ears,  his  face  embrowned,  his  head 
covered  with  an  old  and  greasy  gray  steeple  hat,  with 
turned-up  brims,  his  ungloved  and  stained  hands 
holding  for  cane  a  long  and  crooked  thorn-stick. 
Altogether  it  was  a  very  unprincely  individual  who 
roamed  those  peril-haunted  shires  of  England. 

The  two  fugitives— Prince  Charles  and  Lord  Wil- 
mot — now  turned  their  steps  towards  the  seaport  of 
Bristol,  hoping  there  to  find  means  of  passage  to 


THE   ADVENTURES   OF  A   ROYAL   FUQITIYE.       269 

Prance,  Their  last  place  of  refuge  in  Staffordshire 
was  at  the  house  of  Colonel  Lane,  of  Bently,  an 
earnest  royalist.  Here  Charles  dropped  his  late  name^ 
and  assumed  that  of  Will  Jackson.  lie  threw  off 
his  peasant's  garb,  put  on  the  livery  of  a  servant, 
and  set  off  on  horseback  with  his  seeming  mistress, 
Miss  Jane  Lane,  sister  of  the  colonel,  who  had  sud- 
denly become  infected  with  the  desire  of  visiting  a 
cousin  at  Abbotsleigh,  near  Bristol.  The  prince  had 
now  become  a  lady's  groom,  but  he  proved  an  awk- 
ward one,  and  had  to  be  taught  the  duties  of  his 
office. 

"  Will,"  said  the  colonel,  as  they  were  about  to 
start,  "  you  must  give  my  sister  your  hand  to  help 
her  to  mount." 

The  new  groom  gave  her  the  wrong  hand.  Old 
Mrs.  Lane,  mother  to  the  colonel,  who  saw  the  start- 
ing, but  knew  not  the  secret,  turned  to  her  son,  saying 
satirically, — 

"  What  a  goodly  horsemen  my  daughter  has  got 
to  ride  before  her !" 

To  ride  before  her  it  was,  for,  in  the  fashion  of  the 
day,  groom  and  mistress  occupied  one  horse,  the 
groom  in  front,  the  mistress  behind.  Not  two  hours 
had  they  ridden,  before  the  horse  cast  a  shoe.  A 
road-side  village  was  at  hand,  and  they  stopped  to 
have  the  bare  hoof  shod.  The  seeming  groom  held 
the  horse's  foot,  while  the  smith  hammered  at  the 
nails.  As  they  did  so  an  amusing  conversation  took 
place. 

"  What  news  have  you  ?"  asked  Charles. 

"None  worth  the  telling,"  answcrei  the  smith: 
23* 


270  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

*'  nothing  has  happened  since  the  boating  of  thosa 
rogues,  the  Scots." 

"  Have  any  of  the  English,  that  joined  hands  with 
the  Scots,  been  taken  ?"  asked  Charles. 

"  Some  of  thera,  they  tell  me,"  answered  the  smith, 
hammering  sturdily  at  the  shoe ;  "  but  I  do  not  hear 
that  that  rogue,  Charles  Stuart,  has  been  taken  j^et." 

"Faith,"  answered  the  prince,  "if  he  should  bo 
taken,  he  deserves  hanging  more  than  all  the  rest, 
for  bringing  the  Scots  upon  English  soil." 

"  You  speak  well,  gossip,  and  like  an  honest  man," 
rejoined  the  smith,  heartily.  "  And  there's  your  shoe, 
fit  for  a  week's  travel  on  hard  roads." 

And  so  they  parted,  the  king  merrily  telling  his 
mistress  the  joke,  when  safely  out  of  reach  of  the 
smith's  ears. 

There  is  another  amusing  story  told  of  this  journey. 
Stopping  at  a  house  near  Stratford-upon-Avon,  "  Will 
Jackson"  was  sent  to  the  kitchen,  as  the  groom's 
place.  Here  he  found  a  buxom  cook-maid,  engaged 
in  preparing  supper. 

"  Wind  up  the  jack  for  me,"  said  the  maid  to  her 
supposed  fellow-servant. 

Charles,  nothing  loath,  proceeded  to  do  so.  But 
he  knew  much  less  about  handling  a  jack  than  a 
sword,  and  awkwardly  wound  it  up  the  wrong  way. 
The  cook  looked  at  him  scornfully,  and  broke  out  in 
angry  tones, — 

"  What  countrymen  are  you,  that  you  know  not 
how  to  wind  up  a  jack  ?" 

Charles  answered  her  contritely,  repressing  the 
merry  twinkle  in  his  eye. 


THE   ADVENTURES   OP  A   ROYAL   FUGITIVE.       271 

"  I  am  a  poor  tenant's  son  of  Colonel  Lane,  in 
StaiFordshire,"  ho  said ;  "  we  seldom  have  roast  meat, 
and  when  we  have,  we  don't  make  use  of  a  jack  " 

"  That's  not  saying  much  for  your  Staffordshire 
cooks,  and  less  for  your  larders,"  replied  the  maid, 
with  a  head-toss  of  superiority. 

The  house  where  this  took  place  still  stands,  with 
the  old  jack  hanging  beside  the  fireplace  ;  and  those 
who  have  seen  it  of  late  years  do  not  wonder  that 
Charles  was  puzzled  how  to  wind  it  up.  It  might 
puzzle  a  wiser  man. 

There  is  another  story  in  which  the  prince  played 
his  part  as  a  kitchen  servant.  It  is  said  that  the 
soldiers  got  so  close  upon  his  track  that  they  sought 
the  house  in  which  he  was,  not  leaving  a  room  in  it 
uuvisited.  Finally  they  made  their  way  to  the 
kitchen,  where  was  the  man  they  sought,  with  a 
servant-maid  who  knew  him.  Charles  looked  around 
in  nervous  fear,  llis  pursuers  had  never  been  so 
n<;ar  him.  Doubtless,  for  the  moment,  he  gave  up 
the  game  as  lost.  But  the  loyal  cook  was  mistress 
of  the  situation.  She  struck  her  seeming  fellow- 
servant  a  smart  rap  with  the  basting- ladle,  and  called 
out,  shrewishly, — 

"  Now,  then,  go  on  with  thy  work ;  what  art  thou 
looking  about  for  ?" 

The  soldiers  laughed  as  Charles  sprang  up  with  a 
sheepish  aspect,  and  they  turned  away  without  a 
thought  that  in  this  servant  lad  lay  hidden  the  prince 
they  sought. 

On  September  13,  ten  days  after  the  battle.  Miss 
Lane   and  her  groom   reached  Abbotsleigh,  where 


272  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

they  took  refuge  at  the  house  of  Mr.  ISTorton,  Colonel 
Lane's  cousin.  To  the  great  regret  of  the  fugitive, 
he  learned  here  that  there  was  no  vessel  in  the  port 
of  Bristol  that  would  serve  his  purpose  of  flight. 
He  remained  in  the  house  for  four  days,  under  his 
guise  of  a  servant,  but  was  given  a  chamber  of  his 
own,  on  pretence  of  indisposition.  He  was  just  well 
of  an  ague,  said  his  mistress.  He  was,  indeed,  some- 
what worn  out  with  fatigue  and  anxiety,  though  of 
a  disposition  that  would  not  long  let  him  endure 
hunger  or  loneliness. 

In  fact,  on  the  very  morning  after  his  arrival  he 
made  an  early  toilette,  and  went  to  the  buttery-hatch 
for  his  breakfast.  Here  were  several  servants.  Pope, 
the  butler,  among  them.  Bread  and  butter  seems  to 
have  been  the  staple  of  the  morning  meal,  though 
the  butler  made  it  more  palatable  by  a  liberal  addi- 
tion of  ale  and  sack.  As  they  ate  they  were  enter- 
tained by  a  minute  account  of  the  battle  of  Worcester, 
given  by  a  country  fellow  who  sat  beside  Charles  at 
table,  and  whom  he  concluded,  from  the  accuracy  of 
his  description,  to  have  been  one  of  Cromwell's 
soldiers. 

Charles  asked  him  how  he  came  to  know  so  well 
what  took  place,  and  was  told  in  reply  that  he  had 
been  in  the  king's  regiment.  On  being  questioned 
more  closely,  it  proved  that  he  had  really  been  in 
Charles's  own  regiment  of  guards. 

"What  kind  of  man  was  he  you  call  the  king?" 
asked  Charles,  with  an  assumed  air  of  curiosity. 

The  fellow  replied  with  an  accurate  description  of 
the  dress  worn  by  the  prince  during  the  battle,  and 


THE  ADVENTURES   OF   A   ROYAL   FUGITIVE.       273 

of  the  horse  he  rode.    lie  looked  at  Charles  on  con. 
eluding. 

"  lie  was  at  least  three  fingers  taller  than  you,"  he 
said. 

The  buttery  was  growing  too  hot  for  Will  Jackson. 
What  if,  in  another  look,  this  fellow  should  get  a 
nearer  glimpse  at  the  truth  ?  The  disguised  prince 
made  a  hasty  excuse  for  leaving  the  place,  being,  as 
he  says,  "  more  afraid  when  I  knew  he  was  one  of 
our  own  soldiers,  than  when  I  took  him  for  one  of 
the  enemy's." 

This  alarm  was  soon  followed  by  a  greater  one. 
One  of  his  companions  came  to  him  in  a  state  of 
intense  affright. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  he  cried.  "  I  am  afraid 
Pope,  the  butler,  knows  you.  He  has  said  very 
positively  to  me  that  it  is  j'ou,  but  I  have  denied 
it." 

"  We  are  in  a  dangerous  strait,  indeed, "  said  Charles. 
"  There  is  nothing  for  it,  as  I  see,  but  to  trust  the 
man  with  our  secret.  Boldness,  in  cases  like  this, 
is  better  than  distrust.     Send  Pope  to  me." 

The  butler  was  accordingly  sent,  and  Charles,  with 
a  flattering  show  of  candor,  told  him  who  he  was, 
and  requested  his  silence  and  aid.  lie  had  taUen 
the  right  course,  as  it  proved.  Pope  was  of  loyal 
blood.  He  could  not  have  found  a  more  intelli- 
gent and  devoted  adherent  than  the  butler  showed 
himself  during  the  remainder  of  his  stay  in  that 
house. 

But  the  attentions  shown  the  prince  were  compro- 
mising, in  consideration  of  his  disguise  as  a  groom ; 


274  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

suspicions  were  likely  to  be  aroused,  and  it  was  felt 
necessary  that  lie  should  seek  a  new  asylum.  One 
was  found  at  Trent  House,  in  the  same  county,  the 
residence  of  a  fervent  royalist  named  Colonel  Wind- 
ham, Charles  remained  here,  and  in  this  vicinity, 
till  the  6th  of  October,  seeking  in  vain  the  means 
of  escape  from  one  of  the  neighboring  ports.  The 
coast  proved  to  be  too  closely  watched,  however ;  and 
in  the  end  soldiers  began  to  arrive  in  the  neighbor 
hood,  and  the  rumor  spread  that  Colonel  Windham's 
house  was  suspected.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but 
another  flight,  which,  this  time,  brought  him  into 
Wiltshii'e,  where  he  took  refuge  at  Hele  House,  the 
residence  of  Mr.  Hj'de. 

Charles  himself  tells  an  interesting  story  of  one  of 
his  adventures  while  at  Trent  House.  He,  with  some 
companions,  had  ridden  to  a  place  called  Burport, 
where  they  were  to  wait  for  Lord  Wilmot,  who  had 
gone  to  Lyme,  four  miles  farther,  to  look  after  a 
possible  vessel.  As  they  came  near  Burport  they 
saw  that  the  streets  were  full  of  red-coats,  Cromwell's 
soldiers,  there  being  a  whole  regiment  in  the  town. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  asked  Colonel  Windham, 
greatly  startled  at  the  sight. 

"  Do  ?  why  face  it  out  impudently,  go  to  the  best 
hotel  in  the  place,  and  take  a  room  there,"  said 
Charles.  "It  is  the  only  safe  thing  to  do.  And 
otherwise  we  would  miss  Lord  Wilmot,  which  would 
be  inconvenient  to  both  of  us." 

Windham  gave  in,  and  they  rode  boldly  forward 
to  the  chief  inn  of  the  place.  The  yard  was  filled 
with  soldiers.    Charles,  as  the  groom  of  the  party. 


THE  ADVENTURES   OP   A  llOTAL   FUGITIVE.       275 

alighted,  took  the  horses,  and  purposely  led  them  in 
a  blundering  way  through  the  midst  of  the  soldiers 
to  the  stable.  Some  of  the  red- coats  angrily  cursed 
him  for  his  rudeness,  but  he  went  serenely  on,  as 
if  soldiers  were  no  more  to  him  than  flies. 

Eeaching  the  stable,  he  took  the  bridles  from  the 
horses,  and  called  to  the  hostler  to  give  them  soma 
oats. 

"  Sure,"  said  the  hostler,  peering  at  him  closely, 
"  I  know  your  face." 

This  was  none  too  pleasant  a  greeting  for  the  dis- 
guised prince,  but  he  put  on  a  serene  countenance, 
and  asked  the  man  whether  he  had  always  lived  at 
that  place. 

"  No,"  said  the  hostler.  « I  was  born  in  Exeter, 
and  was  hostler  in  an  inn  there  near  Mr.  Potter's,  a 
great  merchant  of  that  town." 

"  Then  you  must  have  seen  me  at  Mr.  Potter's," 
said  Charles.     "  I  lived  with  him  over  a  year." 

"  That  is  it,"  answered  the  hostler.  "  I  remember 
you  a  boy  there.  Let  us  go  drink  a  pot  of  beer  on 
it." 

Charles  excused  himself,  saying  that  he  must  go 
look  after  his  master's  dinner,  and  he  lost  little  timo 
in  getting  out  of  that  town,  lest  some  one  else  might 
have  as  inconvenient  and  less  doubtful  a  memory. 

While  the  prince  was  flying,  his  foes  were  pur- 
suing. The  fact  that  the  royal  army  was  scattered 
was  not  enough  for  the  politic  mind  of  Cromwell. 
Its  leader  was  still  at  large,  somewhere  in  England ; 
while  he  remained  free  all  was  at  risk.  Those  tur- 
bulent Scotch  might  be  again  raised.     A  new  Dun- 


276  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

bar  or  Worcester  might  be  fought,  with  different 
fortune.  The  flying  Churles  Stuart  must  be  held  cap- 
tive within  the  country,  and  made  prisoner  withia 
a  fortress  as  soon  as  possible.  In  consequence,  the 
coast  was  sedulously  watched  to  prevent  his  escape, 
and  the  country  widely  searched,  the  houses  of 
known  royalists  being  particularly  placed  under  sur- 
veillance ;  a  large  reward  was  offered  for  the  arrest 
of  the  fugitive ;  the  party  of  the  Parliament  was 
everywhere  on  the  alert  for  him;  only  the  good 
faith  and  sound  judgment  of  his  friends  kept  him 
from  the  hands  of  his  foes. 

At  Hele  House,  the  fugitive  was  near  the  Sussex 
coast,  and  his  friends  hoped  that  a  passage  to  France 
might  be  secured  from  some  of  its  small  ports.  They 
succeeded  at  length.  On  October  13,  in  early  morn- 
ing, the  prince,  with  a  few  loyal  companions,  left  his 
last  hiding-place.  They  took  dogs  with  them,  as  if 
they  were  off  for  a  hunting  excursion  to  the  downs. 

That  night  they  spent  at  Hambledon,  in  Hamp- 
shire. Colonel  Gunter,  one  of  the  party,  led  the 
way  to  the  house  of  his  brother-in-law,  though  with- 
out notifying  him  of  his  purpose.  The  master  of 
the  house  was  absent,  but  returned  while  the  party 
were  at  supper,  and  was  surprised  to  find  a  group 
of  hilarious  guests  around  his  table.  Colonel  Gunter 
was  among  them,  however,  and  explained  that  he 
had  taken  the  privilege  of  kinship  to  use  his  house 
as  his  own. 

The  worthy  squire,  who  loved  good  cheer  and  good 
society,  was  nothing  loath  to  join  this  lively  com- 
pany, though  in  his  first  surprise  to  find  his  house 


THE   ADVENTURES   OF   A   ROYAL   FUGITIVE.        277 

invaded  a  round  Cavalier  oath  broke  from  his  lips. 
To  his  astonishment,  he  was  taken  to  task  for  this 
by  a  crop-haii'cd  member  of  the  company,  who  re- 
proved him  in  true  Puritan  phrase  for  his  profanit3^ 

"  Whom  have  you  here,  Gunter  ?"  the  squire  asked 
his  brother-in-law.  "This  fellow  is  not  of  your  sort. 
I  warrant  me  the  canting  chap  is  some  round-headed 
rogue's  son." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  answered  the  colonel.  '•  He  is 
true  Cavalier,  though  he  does  wear  his  hair  some- 
what of  the  shortest,  and  likes  not  oaths.  He's  one 
of  us,  I  promise  you." 

"  Then  here's  your  health,  brother  Eoundhead !" 
exclaimed  the  host,  heartily,  draining  a  brimming 
glass  of  ale  to  his  unknown  guest. 

The  prince,  before  the  feast  was  over,  grew  gay 
enough  to  prove  that  he  was  no  Puritan,  though  he 
retained  sufficient  caution  in  his  cups  not  further  to 
arouse  his  worthy  host's  suspicions.  The  next  day 
they  reached  a  small  fishing-village,  then  known  as 
Brighthelmstone,  now  grown  into  the  great  town  of 
Brighton.  Here  lay  the  vessel  which  had  been  en- 
gaged. The  master  of  the  craft,  Anthony  Tattersall 
by  name,  with  the  merchant  who  had  engaged  his 
vessel,  sujjped  with  the  party  at  the  village  inn.  It 
was  a  jovial  meal.  The  prince,  glad  at  the  near 
approach  of  safety,  allowed  himself  some  freedom 
of  speech.  Captain  Tattersall  watched  him  closely 
throughout  the  meal.  After  supper  he  drew  hip 
merchant  friend  aside,  and  said  to  him, — 

"  You  have  not  dealt  fairly  with  me  in  this  busi- 
ness. Tou  have  paid  me  a  good  price  to  carry  over 
24 


2*/8  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

that  gentleman ;  I  do  not  complain  of  that ;  but  vou 
should  have  been  more  open.  He  is  the  king,  as  I 
very  well  know," 

"You  are  very  much  mistaken,  captain,"  protested 
the  merchant,  nervously.  "  What  has  put  such  non- 
sense into  your  pate  ?" 

"  I  am  not  mistaken,"  persisted  the  captain.  "  lie 
took  my  ship  in  '48,  with  other  fishing  craft  of  this 
port,  when  he  commanded  his  father's  fleet.  I  know 
his  face  too  well  to  be  deceived.  But  don't  be 
troubled  at  that;  I  think  I  do  my  God  and  my 
country  good  service  in  preserving  the  king;  and 
by  the  grace  of  God,  I  will  venture  my  life  and  all 
for  him,  and  set  him  safely  on  shore,  if  I  can,  in 
France." 

Happily  for  Charles,  he  had  found  a  friend  instead 
of  a  foe  in  this  critical  moment  of  his  adventure. 
He  found  another,  for  the  mariner  was  not  the  only 
one  who  knew  his  face.  As  he  stood  by  the  fire, 
with  bis  palm  resting  on  the  back  of  a  chair,  the 
inn-keeper  came  suddenly  up  and  kissed  his  hand. 

*'God  bless  3'ou  wheresoever  you  go!"  he  said, 
fervently.  "  I  do  not  doubt,  before  I  die,  to  be  a 
lord,  and  my  wife  a  lady." 

Charles  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh  at  this  ambi- 
tious remark  of  his  host.  He  bad  been  twice  dis- 
covered within  the  hour,  after  a  month  and  a  half 
of  impunity.  Yet  he  felt  that  he  could  put  fuU 
trust  in  these  worthy  men,  and  slept  soundly  that 
last  night  on  English  soil. 

At  five  o'clock  of  the  next  morning,  he,  with  Lord 
Wilmot,  his  constant  companion,  went  on  board  the 


THfi   ADVENTURES   OF   A   ROYAL   FUGITIVE.       279 

little  sixty-ton  craft,  which  lay  in  Shorcham  harbor 
waiting  the  tide  to  put  to  sea.  By  daybreak  they 
were  on  the  waves.  The  prince  was  resting  in  the 
cabin,  when  in  came  Captain  Tattersall,  kissed  his 
hand,  professed  devotion  to  his  interests,  and  sug- 
gested a  course  for  him  to  pursue. 

His  crew,  he  said,  had  been  shipped  for  the  Eng- 
lish port  of  Poole.  To  head  for  France  might  cause 
suspicion,  lie  advised  Charles  to  represent  himself 
as  a  merchant  who  was  in  debt  and  afraid  of  arrest 
in  England,  and  who  wished  to  reach  France  to  col- 
lect money  due  him  at  Eouen.  If  he  would  tell  this 
story  to  the  sailors,  and  gain  their  good-will,  it  might 
save  future  trouble. 

Charles  entered  frcelj'  into  this  conspiracy,  went 
on  deck,  talked  affably  with  the  crew,  told  them  the 
Btory  concocted  by  the  captain,  and  soon  had  them 
BO  fully  on  his  side,  that  they  joined  him  in  begging 
the  captain  to  change  his  course  and  land  his  pas- 
sengers in  France.  Captain  Tattersall  demurred 
somewhat  at  this,  but  soon  let  himself  be  convinced, 
and  headed  his  ship  for  the  Gallic  coast. 

The  wind  was  fair,  the  weather  fine.  Land  was 
sighted  before  noon  of  the  16th.  At  one  o'clock 
the  prince  and  Lord  Wilmot  were  landed  at  Fecamp, 
a  small  French  port.  They  had  distanced  the  blood- 
hounds  of  the  Parliament,  and  were  safe  on  foreign 
soil. 


CROMWELL   AND    THE  PARLIA^ 
MENT. 

The  Parliament  of  England  had  defeated  and  put 
an  end  to  the  king ;  it  remained  for  Cromwell  to 
put  an  end  to  the  Parliament.  "  The  Eump,"  the 
remnant  of  the  old  Parliament  was  derisively  called. 
AVhat  was  left  of  that  great  body  contained  little  of 
its  honesty  and  integrity,  much  of  its  pride  and  in- 
competency. The  members  remaining  had  become 
infected  with  the  wild  notion  that  they  were  the 
governing  power  in  England,  and  instead  of  pre- 
paring to  disband  themselves  they  introduced  a  bill 
for  the  disbanding  of  the  army.  They  had  not 
yet  learned  of  what  stuff  Oliver  Cromwell  was 
made. 

A  bill  had  been  passed,  it  is  true,  for  the  dissolu- 
tion of  the  Parliament,  but  in  the  discussion  of  how 
the  "New  Eepresentative"  was  to  be  chosen  it  be- 
came plainly  evident  that  the  members  of  the  Eump 
intended  to  form  part  of  it,  without  the  formality  ol 
re-election.  A  struggle  for  power  seemed  likely  to 
arise  between  the  Parliament  and  the  army.  It 
could  have  but  one  ending,  with  a  man  like  Oliver 
Cromwell  at  the  head  of  the  latter.  The  officers 
demanded  that  Parliament  should  immediately  dis- 
280 


OLIVER  CROMWELL. 


CROMWELL  AND   THE   PARLIAMENT.  281 

eolve.  The  members  resolutely  refused.  Cromwell 
growled  his  comments. 

"As  for  the  members  of  this  Parliament,"  he  said, 
"  the  army  begins  to  take  them  in  disgust." 

There  was  ground  for  it,  he  continued,  in  their 
Belfish  greed,  their  interference  with  law  and  justice, 
the  scandalous  lives  of  many  of  the  members,  and, 
above  all,  their  plain  intention  to  keep  themselves  in 
power. 

"There  is  little  to  hope  for  from  such  men  for  a 
settlement  of  the  nation,"  he  concluded. 

The  war  with  Holland  precipitated  the  result. 
This  war  acted  as  a  barometer  for  the  Parliament. 
It  was  a  naval  combat.  In  the  first  meeting  of  the 
two  fleets  the  Dutch  were  defeated,  and  the  mercury 
of  Parliamentarian  pride  rose.  In  the  next  combat 
Van  Tromp,  the  veteran  Dutch  admiral,  drove  Blake 
with  a  shattered  fleet  into  the  Thames.  Van  Tromp 
swept  the  Channel  in  triumph,  Avith  a  broom  at  his 
masthead.  The  hopes  of  the  members  went  down  to 
zero.  They  agreed  to  disband  in  November.  Crom- 
well promised  to  reduce  the  army.  But  Blake  put 
to  sea  again,  fought  Van  Tromp  in  a  four  days'  run- 
ning fight,  and  won  the  honors  of  the  combat.  Up 
again  went  the  mercury  of  Parliamentary  hope  and 
pride.  The  members  determined  to  continue  in 
power,  and  not  only  claimed  the  right  to  remain 
members  of  the  new  Parliament,  but  even  to  revise 
the  returns  of  the  elected  members,  and  decide  for 
themselves  if  they  would  have  them  as  fellows. 

Tlio  issue  was  now  sharply  drawn  between  army 
and  Parliament.  The  officers  me<  \nd  demanded  that 
2i* 


282  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

Parliament  should  at  once  dissolve,  and  let  the 
Council  of  State  manage  the  new  elections.  A  con- 
ference was  held  between  officers  and  members,  at 
Cromwell's  house,  on  April  19,  1653.  It  ended  in 
nothing.     The  members  were  resolute. 

"  Our  charge,"  said  Haslerig,  arrogantly,  "  cannot 
be  transferred  to  any  one." 

The  conference  adjourned  till  the  next  morning, 
Sir  Harry  Yane  engaging  that  no  action  should  be 
taken  till  it  met  again.  Yet  when  it  met  the  next 
morning  the  leading  members  of  Parliament  were 
absent,  Yane  among  them.  Their  absence  was  sus- 
picious. Were  they  pushing  the  bill  through  the 
House  in  defiance  of  the  army  ? 

Cromwell  was  present, — "  in  plain  black  clothes, 
and  gray  worsted  stockings," — a  plain  man,  but  one 
not  safe  to  trifle  with.  The  officers  waited  a  while  for 
the  members.  They  did  not  come.  Instead  there 
came  word  that  they  were  in  their  seats  in  the  House, 
busily  debating  the  bill  that  was  to  make  them  rulers 
of  the  nation  without  consent  of  the  people,  hurrying 
it  rapidly  through  its  several  stages.  If  left  alone 
they  would  soon  make  it  a  law. 

Then  the  man  who  had  hurled  Charles  I.  from  hia 
throne  lost  his  patience.  This,  in  his  opinion,  had 
gone  far  enough.  Since  it  had  come  to  a  question 
whether  a  self-elected  Parliament,  or  the  army  to 
which  England  owed  her  freedom,  should  hold  the 
balance  of  power,  Cromwell  was  not  likely  to  hesi- 
tate. 

"  It  is  contrary  to  common  honesty  1"  he  broke  out^ 
angrily. 


CROMWELL   AND   THE   PARLIAMENT.  283 

Leaving  Wlaitchall,  he  set  out  for  the  House  of 
Parliament,  bidding  a  company  of  musketeers  to  fol- 
low him.  He  entered  quietly,  leaving  his  soldiers 
outside.  The  House  now  contained  no  more  than 
fifty-three  members.  Sir  Harry  Vane  was  addressing 
this  fragment  of  a  Parliament  with  a  passionate 
harangue  in  favor  of  the  bill.  Cromwell  sat  for 
some  time  in  silence,  Ustening  to  his  speech,  his  only 
words  being  to  his  neighbor,  St.  John. 

"  I  am  come  to  do  what  grieves  me  to  the  heart," 
be  said. 

Yane  pressed  tne  House  to  waive  its  usual  forms 
and  pass  the  bill  at  once. 

"  The  time  has  come,"  said  Cromwell  to  Harrison, 
whom  he  had  beckoned  over  to  him. 

"  Think  well,"  answered  Harrison ;  "  it  is  a  danger- 
ous work." 

The  man  of  fate  subsided  into  silence  again.  A 
quarter  of  an  hour  more  passed.  Then  the  question 
was  put  "  that  this  bill  do  now  pass." 

Cromwell  rose,  took  off  his  hat,  and  spoke.  His 
words  were  strong.  Beginning  with  commendation 
of  the  Parliament  for  what  it  had  done  for  the  pub- 
lic good,  he  went  on  to  charge  the  present  members 
with  acts  of  injustice,  delays  of  justice,  self-interest, 
and  similar  faults,  his  tone  rising  higher  as  he  spoke 
until  it  had  grown  very  hot  and  indignant. 

"Your  hour  is  come;  the  Lord  hath  done  with 
you,"  he  added. 

"  It  is  a  strange  language,  this,"  cried  one  of  the 
members,  springing  up  hastily ;  "  unusual  this  within 
the  walls  of  Parliament.    And  from  a  trusted  servant 


284  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

too ;  and  one  whom  we  have  so  highly  honored ; 
and  one " 

"  Come,  come,"  cried  Cromwell,  in  the  tone  in  which 
he  would  have  commanded  his  armj'  to  charge,  "  we 
have  had  enough  of  this."  He  strode  furiously  into 
the  middle  of  the  chamber,  clapped  on  his  hat,  and 
exclaimed,  "  I  will  put  an  end  to  your  prating." 

He  continued  speaking  hotly  and  rapidly,  "  stamp- 
ing the  floor  with  his  feet"  in  his  rage,  the  words 
rolling  from  him  in  a  fury.  Of  these  words  we  only 
know  those  with  which  he  ended. 

"  It  is  not  fit  that  you  should  sit  here  any  longer ! 
You  should  give  place  to  better  men !  You  are  no 
Parliament !"  came  from  him  in  harsh  and  broken 
exclamations.  "  Call  them  in,"  he  said,  briefly,  tc 
Harrison. 

At  the  word  of  command  a  troop  of  some  thirty 
musketeers  marched  into  the  chamber.  Grim  follows 
they  were,  dogs  of  war, — the  men  of  the  Eump 
could  not  face  this  argument ;  it  was  force  arrayed 
against  law, — or  what  called  itself  law, — wrong 
against  wrong,  for  neither  army  nor  Parliament  truly 
represented  the  people,  though  just  then  the  army 
seemed  its  most  rightful  representative. 

"  I  say  you  are  no  Parliament !"  roared  the  lord- 
general,  hot  with  anger,  "  Some  of  jou  are  drunk- 
ards." His  eye  fell  on  a  bottle-loving  member. 
"  Some  of  you  are  lewd  livers ;  living  in  open  con- 
tempt of  God's  commandments."  His  hot  gaze 
flashed  on  Henry  Marten  and  Sir  Peter  Wentworth. 
"  Following  your  own  greedy  appetites  and  the  devil's 
commandments ;  corrupt,  unjust  persons,  scandalous 


CROMWELL   AND    THE   PARLIAMENT.  285 

to  the  profession  of  the  gospel :  how  can  you  he  a 
Parliament  for  God's  people?  Depart,  I  say,  and 
let  us  have  done  with  you.  In  the  name  of  God — 
gol" 

These  words  were  like  bomb-shells  exploded  in  the 
chamber  of  Parliament.  Such  a  scene  had  never 
before  and  has  never  since  been  seen  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  The  members  were  all  on  their  feet,  some 
white  with  terror,  some  red  with  indignation.  Vane 
fearlessly  faced  the  ii'ate  general. 

"  Your  action,"  he  said,  hotly,  "  is  against  all  right 
and  all  honor." 

"  Ah,  Sir  Harry  Vane,  Sir  Harry  Vane,"  retorted 
Cromwell,  bitterly,  "you  might  have  prevented  all 
this ;  but  you  are  a  juggler,  and  have  no  common 
honesty.  The  Lord  deliver  me  from  Sir  Harry 
Vane !" 

The  retort  was  a  just  one.  Vane  had  attempted 
to  usurp  the  government.  Cromwell  turned  to  the 
speaker,  who  obstinately  clung  to  his  seat,  declaring 
that  he  would  not  yield  it  except  to  force. 

"  Fetch  him  down !"  roared  the  general. 

"  Sir,  I  will  lend  you  a  hand,"  said  Harrison. 

Speaker  Lenthall  left  the  chair.  One  man  could 
not  resist  an  army.  Thrc  ugh  the  door  glided,  silent 
as  ghosts,  the  members  of  Parliament. 

"  It  is  you  that  have  forced  me  to  this,"  said 
Cromwell,  with  a  shade  of  regret  in  his  voice.  "  I 
have  soui^ht  the  Lord  night  and  day,  that  He  would 
rather  slay  mo  than  put  upon  me  the  doing  of  this 
work." 

He  had,  doubtless  ;  he  was  a  man  of  deep  piety  and 


286  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

intense  bigotry;  but  the  Lord's  answei,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  came  out  of  the  depths  of  his  own  conscious- 
ness. Men  like  Cromwell  call  upon  God,  but  answer 
for  Him  themselves. 

"  What  shall  be  done  with  this  bauble  ?"  said  the 
general,  lifting  the  sacred  mace,  the  sign-manual  of 
government  by  the  representatives  of  the  people. 
"  Take  it  away !"  he  finished,  handing  it  to  a  mus- 
keteer. 

His  flashing  eyes  followed  the  retiring  members 
until  they  all  had  left  the  House.  Then  the  mus- 
keteers filed  out,  followed  by  Cromwell  and  Harrison. 
The  door  was  locked,  and  the  key  and  mace  carried 
away  by  Colonel  Otley. 

A  few  hours  afterwards  the  Council  of  State,  the 
executive  committee  of  Parliament,  was  similarly 
dissolved  by  the  lord-general,  who,  in  person,  bade  its 
members  to  depart. 

"  "We  have  heard,"  cried  John  Bradshaw,  one  of 
its  members,  "  what  you  have  done  this  morning  at 
the  House,  and  in  some  hours  all  England  will  hear 
it.  But  you  mistake,  sir,  if  you  think  the  Parlia- 
ment dissolved.  No  power  on  earth  can  dissolve  the 
Parliament  but  itself,  be  sure  of  that." 

The  people  did  hear  it, — and  sustained  Cromwell 
in  his  action.  Of  the  two  sets  of  usurpers,  the  army 
and  a  non -representative  Parliament,  they  preferred 
the  former. 

"  We  did  not  hear  a  dog  bark  at  their  going,"  said 
Cromwell,  afterwards. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  in  history  that  the  army 
had  overturned  representative  government.    In  this 


CROMWELL   AND   THE   PARLIAMENT.  287 

case  it  was  not  done  with  the  design  of  establishing 
a  despotism.  Cromwell  was  honest  in  his  purpose  of 
reforming  the  administration,  and  establishing  a  Par- 
liamentary government.  Eut  he  had  to  do  with  in- 
tractable elements.  He  called  a  constituent  conven- 
tion, giving  to  it  the  duty  of  paving  the  way  to  a 
constitutional  Parliament.  Instead  of  this,  the  con- 
vention began  the  work  of  reforming  the  constitu- 
tion, and  proposed  such  radical  changes  that  tbo 
lord-general  grew  alarmed.  Doubtless  his  musketeers 
would  have  dealt  with  the  convention  as  they  had 
done  with  the  Rump  Parliament,  had  it  not  fallen  to 
pieces  through  it  own  dissensions.  It  handed  back 
to  Cromwell  the  power  it  had  received  from  him. 
He  became  the  lord  protector  of  the  realm.  The 
revolutionary  government  had  drifted,  despite  itself, 
into  a  despotism.  A  despotism  it  was  to  remain 
while  Cromwell  lived. 


THE  RELIEF  OF  LONDON- 
DERRY, 

Frightful  was  the  state  of  Londonderry.  "  Ko 
surrender"  was  the  ultimatum  of  its  inhabitants, 
"blockade  and  starvation"  the  threat  of  the  be- 
siegers ;  the  town  was  surrounded,  the  river  closed, 
relief  seemed  hopeless,  life,  should  the  furious  be- 
siegers break  in,  equally  hopeless.  Far  oflf,  in  the 
harbor  of  Lough  Foyle,  could  be  seen  the  English 
ships.  Thirty  vessels  lay  there,  laden  with  men  and 
provisions,  but  they  were  able  to  come  no  nearer. 
The  inhabitants  could  see  them,  but  the  sight  only 
aggravated  their  misery.  Plenty  so  near  at  hand  I 
Death  and  destitution  in  their  midst!  Frightful, 
Indeed,  was  their  extremity. 

The  Foyle,  the  river  leading  to  the  town,  was 
fringed  with  hostile  forts  and  batteries,  and  its  chan- 
nel barricaded.  Several  boats  laden  with  stone  had 
been  sunk  in  the  channel.  A  row  of  stakes  was 
driven  into  the  bottom  of  the  stream.  A  boom  was 
formed  of  trunks  of  fir-trees,  strongly  bound  together, 
and  fastened  by  great  cables  to  the  shore.  Eelief 
from  the  fleet,  with  the  river  thus  closed  against  it, 
seemed  impossible.  Yet  scarcely  two  diys'  supplies 
288 


THE  RELIEF   OP   LONDONDERRY,  289 

were  left  in  tho  town,  and  without  hasty  relief  star- 
vation or  massacre  seemed  the  only  alternatives. 

Let  us  relate  the  occasion  of  this  siege.  James 
II.  had  been  driven  from  England,  and  William  of 
Orange  was  on  the  throne.  In  his  eflbrt  to  recover 
his  kingdom,  James  sought  Ireland,  where  the  Cath- 
olic peasantry  were  on  his  side.  II is  appearance  was 
the  signal  for  fifty  thousand  peasants  to  rise  in  arms, 
and  for  the  Protestants  to  fly  from  threatened  mas- 
sacre. They  knew  their  fate  should  they  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  half-savage  peasants,  mad  with 
years  of  misrule. 

In  the  north,  seven  thousand  English  fugitives 
fled  to  Londondei-ry,  and  took  shelter  behind  the 
weak  wall,  manned  by  a  few  old  guns,  and  without 
even  a  ditch  for  defence,  which  formed  the  only 
barrier  between  them  and  their  foes.  Around  this 
town  gathered  twenty-five  thousand  besiegers,  con- 
fident of  quick  success.  But  the  weakness  of  the 
battlements  was  compensated  for  by  the  stoutness 
of  the  hearts  within.  So  fierce  were  the  sallies  of 
the  desperate  seven  thousand,  so  severe  the  loss  of 
the  besiegers  in  their  assaults,  that  the  attempt  to 
carry  the  place  by  storm  was  given  up,  and  a  block- 
ade substituted.  From  April  till  tne  end  of  July 
this  continued,  the  condition  of  the  besieged  daily 
growing  worse,  the  food-supply  daily  growing  less. 
Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  at  the  date  with  which 
we  are  specially  concerned. 

Inside  the  town,  at  that  date,  the  destitution  had 
grown  heart-rending.  The  fire  of  the  enemy  was 
kept  up  more  briskly  than  ever,  but  famine  and  dis- 

II.— N  t  2fi 


290  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

ease  killed  more  than  cannon-balls.  The  soldiers  of 
the  garrison  were  so  weak  from  privation  that  they 
could  scarcely  stand ;  yet  they  repelled  every  attack, 
and  repaired  every  breach  in  the  walls  as  fast  as 
made.  The  damage  done  by  day  was  made  good  at 
night.  For  the  garrison  there  remained  a  small 
supply  of  grain,  which  was  given  out  by  mouthfuls, 
and  there  was  besides  a  considerable  store  of  salted 
hides,  which  they  gnawed  for  lack  of  better  food. 
The  stock  of  animals  had  been  reduced  to  nine 
horses,  and  these  so  lean  and  gaunt  that  it  seemed 
useless  to  kill  them  for  food. 

The  townsmen  were  obliged  to  feed  on  dogs  and 
rats,  an  occasional  small  fish  caught  in  the  river, 
and  similar  sparse  supplies.  They  died  by  hundreds. 
Disease  aided  stai-vation  in  carrying  them  off.  The 
living  were  too  few  and  too  weak  to  bury  the  dead. 
Bodies  were  left  unburied,  and  a  deadly  and  revolt- 
ing stench  filled  the  air.  That  there  was  secret  dis- 
content and  plottings  for  surrender  may  well  be 
believed.  But  no  such  feeling  dared  display  itself 
openly.  Stubborn  resolution  and  vigorous  defiance 
continued  the  public  tone.  "  Ko  surrender"  was  the 
general  cry,  even  in  that  extremity  of  distress.  And 
to  this  voices  added,  in  tones  of  deep  significance, 
"  First  the  horses  and  hides ;  then  the  prisoners ; 
and  then  each  other." 

Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  on  July  28,  1689. 
Two  days'  very  sparse  rations  alone  remained  for 
the  garrison.  At  the  end  of  that  time  all  must  end. 
Yet  still  in  the  distance  could  be  seen  the  masts  of 
the  dhips,  holding  out  an  unfulfilled  promise  of  relief; 


THE   RELIEF  ()P   LONDONDERRY.  291 

Btill  hope  was  not  quite  dead  in  the  hearts  of  the 
besieged.  Efforts  had  been  made  to  send  word  to 
the  town  from  the  fleet.  One  swimmer  who  at- 
tempted to  pass  the  boom  was  drowned.  Another 
was  caught  and  hanged.  On  the  13th  of  July  a 
letter  from  the  fleet,  sewed  up  in  a  cloth  button, 
reached  the  commander  of  the  garrison.  It  was 
from  Kirke,  the  general  in  command  of  the  party 
of  relief,  and  promised  speedy  aid.  But  a  fortnight 
and  more  had  passed  since  then,  and  still  the  fleet 
lay  inactive  in  Lough  Foyle,  nine  miles  away,  visible 
from  the  summit  of  the  Cathedral,  yet  now  tending 
rather  to  aggravate  the  despair  than  to  sustain  the 
hopes  of  the  besieged. 

The  sunset  hour  of  July  28  was  reached.  Ser- 
vices had  been  held  that  afternoon  in  the  Cathedral, 
— services  in  which  doubtless  the  help  of  God  was 
despairingly  invoked,  since  that  of  man  seemed  in 
vain.  The  heart-sick  people  left  the  doors,  and 
were  about  to  disperse  to  their  foodless  homes,  when 
a  loud  cry  of  hope  and  gladness  came  from  the  look- 
out in  the  tower  above  their  heads. 

"They  are  coming!"  was  the  stirring  cry.  '-The 
ships  are  coming  up  the  river !  I  can  see  their  sails 
plainly  !     Relief  is  coming  !" 

How  bounded  the  hearts  of  those  that  heard  this 
gladsome  cry!  The  listeners  dispersed,  carrying 
the  glad  news  to  every  corner  of  the  town.  Others 
came  in  hot  haste,  eager  to  hear  further  reports 
from  the  lookout  tower.  The  town,  lately  so  c^uict 
and  depressed,  was  suddenly  filled  with  activity. 
Hope  swelled  every  heart,  new  life  ran  in  every  vein; 


292  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

the  news  was  like  a  draught  of  wine  that  gave  fresh 

spirit  to  the  most  despairing  soul. 

And  now  other  tidings  came.  There  was  a  busy 
stir  in  the  camp  of  the  besiegers.  They  were  crowd- 
ing to  the  river-banks.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  see, 
the  stream  was  lined.  The  daring  ships  had  a  gaunt- 
let of  fire  to  run.  Their  attempt  seemed  hopeless, 
indeed.  The  river  was  low.  The  channel  which 
they  would  have  to  follow  ran  near  the  left  bank, 
where  numerous  batteries  had  been  planted.  They 
surely  would  never  succeed.  Yet  still  they  came, 
and  still  the  lookout  heralded  their  movements  to 
the  excited  multitude  below. 

The  leading  ship  was  the  Mountjoy,  a  merchant- 
vessel  laden  heavily  with  provisions.  Its  captain 
was  Micaiah  Browning,  a  native  of  Londonderry. 
Ho  had  long  advised  such  an  attempt,  but  the  general 
in  command  had  delayed  until  positive  orders  came 
from  England  that  something  must  be  done. 

On  hearing  of  this,  Browning  immediately  volun- 
teered. He  was  eager  to  succor  his  fellow-townsmen. 
Andrew  Douglas,  captain  of  the  Phoenix,  a  vessel 
laden  with  meal  from  Scotland,  was  willing  and  anx- 
ious to  join  in  the  enterprise.  As  an  escort  to  these 
two  merchantmen  came  the  Dartmouth,  a  thirty-six- 
gun  frigate,  its  commander  John  Leake,  afterwards 
an  admii'al  of  renown. 

Up  the  stream  they  came,  the  Dartmouth  in  the 
lead,  returning  the  fire  of  the  forts  with  effect, 
pushing  steadily  onward,  with  the  merchantmen 
closely  in  the  rear.  At  length  the  point  of  peril  was 
reached.      The   boom  extended   across   the  stream, 


TUE   RELIEF   OF   LONDONDERRY.  293 

Bcumingly  closing  all  further  passage.  But  that 
remained  to  be  seen.  The  Mountjoy  took  the  lead, 
all  its  sails  spread,  a  fresh  breeze  distending  the 
canvas,  and  rushed  head  on  at  the  boom. 

A  few  minutes  of  exciting  suspense  followed,  then 
the  great  barricade  was  struck,  strained  to  its  utmost, 
and,  with  a  rending  sound,  gave  way.  So  great 
was  the  shock  that  the  Mountjoy  rebounded  and 
stuck  in  the  mud.  A  yell  of  triumph  came  from  the 
Irish  who  crowded  the  banks.  They  rushed  to  their 
boats,  eager  to  board  the  disabled  vessel;  but  a 
broadside  from  the  Dartmouth  sent  them  back  in 
disordered  flight. 

In  a  minute  more  the  Phoenix,  which  had  followed 
close,  sailed  through  the  breach  which  the  Mountjoy 
had  made,  and  was  past  the  boom.  Immediately 
afterwards  the  Mountjoy  began  to  move  in  her  bed 
of  mud.  The  tide  was  rising.  In  a  few  minutes 
she  was  afloat  and  under  way  again,  safely  passing 
through  the  barrier  of  broken  stakes  and  spars. 
But  her  brave  commander  was  no  more.  A  shot 
from  one  of  the  batteries  bad  struck  and  killed  him, 
when  on  the  very  verge  of  gaining  the  highest  honor 
that  man  could  attain, — that  of  saving  his  native 
town  from  the  horrors  of  starvation  or  massacre. 

While  this  was  going  on,  the  state  of  feeling  of 
the  lean  and  hungry  multitude  within  the  town  was 
indescribable.  Night  had  fallen  before  the  ships 
reached  the  boom.  The  lookout  could  no  longer  see 
and  report  their  movements.  Intense  was  the 
suspense.  Minutes  that  seemed  hours  passed  by. 
Then,  in  the  distance,  the  flash  of  guns  could  be 
25* 


294  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Been  The  sound  of  artillery  came  from  afar  to  tho 
ears  of  the  expectant  citizens.  But  the  hope  which 
this  excited  went  down  when  the  shout  of  triumph 
rose  from  the  besiegers  as  the  Mountjoy  grounded. 
It  was  taken  up  and  repeated  from  rank  to  rank  to 
the  very  walls  of  the  city,  and  the  hearts  of  the  be- 
sieged sank  dismally.  This  cry  surely  meant  failure. 
The  miserable  people  grew  livid  with  fear.  There 
was  unutterable  anguish  in  their  eyes,  as  they  gazed 
with  despair  into  each  other's  pallid  faces. 

A  half-hour  more  passed.  The  suspense  continued. 
Yet  the  shouts  of  triumph  had  ceased.  Did  it  mean 
repulse  or  victory  ?  "  Victory  I  victory  I"  for  now 
a  spectral  vision  of  sails  could  be  seen,  drawing  near 
the  town.  They  grew  nearer  and  plainer;  dark 
hulls  showed  below  them;  the  vessels  were  coming! 
the  town  was  saved ! 

AVild  was  the  cry  of  glad  greeting  that  went  up 
from  thousands  of  throats,  soul-inspiring  the  cheers 
that  came,  softened  by  distance,  back  from  the  ships. 
It  was  ten  o'clock  at  night.  The  whole  population 
had  gathered  at  the  quay.  In  came  the  ships. 
Loud  and  fervent  were  the  cheers  and  welcoming 
cries.  In  a  few  minutes  more  the  vessels  had  touched 
the  wharves,  well  fed  sailors  and  starved  townsmen 
were  fraternizing,  and  the  long  months  of  misery 
and  woe  were  forgotten  in  the  intense  joy  of  that 
supreme  moment  of  relief 

Many  hands  now  made  short  work.  Wasted  and 
weak  as  were  the  townsmen,  hope  gave  them  strength. 
A  screen  of  casks  filled  with  earth  was  rapidly  built 
wp  to  protect  the  landing-place  from  the  hostile  bat« 


THE    RELIEF   OP  LONDONDEBRT.  295 

tones  on  the  other  side  of  the  river.  Then  the  un- 
loading began.  The  eyes  of  the  starving  inhabitants 
distended  with  joy  as  they  saw  bairel  after  barrel 
rolled  ashore,  until  six  thousand  bushels  of  meal  lay 
on  the  wharf.  Great  cheeses  came  next,  beef-casks, 
flitches  of  bacon,  kegs  of  butter,  sacks  of  peas  and 
biscuit,  until  the  quay  was  piled  deep  with  provi- 
sions. 

One  may  imagine  with  what  tears  of  joy  the  sol- 
diers and  people  ate  their  midnight  repast  that 
night.  Not  many  hours  before  the  ration  to  each 
man  of  the  gari'ison  had  been  half  a  pound  of  tallow 
and  three-quarters  of  a  pound  of  salted  hide.  Now 
to  each  was  served  out  three  pounds  of  flour,  two 
pounds  of  beef,  and  a  pint  of  peas.  There  was  no 
sleep  for  the  remainder  of  the  night,  either  within 
or  without  the  walls.  The  bonfires  that  blazed  along 
the  whole  circuit  of  the  walls  told  the  joy  within  the 
town.  The  incessant  roar  of  guns  told  the  rage 
without  it.  Peals  of  bells  from  the  church-towers 
answered  the  Irish  cannon  ;  shouts  of  triumph  from 
the  walls  silenced  the  cries  of  anger  from  the  batter- 
ies.    It  was  a  conflict  of  joy  and  rage. 

Three  days  more  the  batteries  continued  to  roar. 
But  on  the  night  of  July  31  flames  were  seen  to 
issue  from  the  Irish  camp ;  on  the  morning  of  Au- 
gust 1  a  line  of  scorched  and  smoking  ruins  re- 
placed the  lately-occupied  huts,  and  along  the  Foyle 
went  a  long  column  of  pikes  and  standards,  mark- 
ing the  retreat  of  the  besieging  army. 

The  retreat  became  a  rout.  The  men  of  Ennis- 
killen   charged   the   retreating   arm}^   at   NewtowD 


296  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

Butler,  struggling  through  a  bog  to  fall  on  double 
their  number,  whom  they  drove  in  a  panic  before 
them.  The  panic  spread  through  the  whole  army. 
Horse  and  foot,  they  fled.  Not  until  they  had  reached 
Dublin,  then  occupied  by  King  James,  did  the  re 
treat  stop,  and  confidence  return  to  the  baffled  be- 
siegers of  Londonderry. 

Thus  ended  the  most  memorable  siege  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  British  islands.  It  had  lasted  one  hun- 
dred and  five  days.  Of  the  seven  thousand  men  of 
the  garrison  but  about  three  thousand  were  left. 
Of  the  besiegers  probably  more  had  fallen  than  the 
whole  number  of  the  garrison. 

To-day  Londonderry  is  in  large  measure  a  monu- 
ment to  its  great  siege.  The  wall  has  been  carefully 
preserved,  the  summit  of  the  ramparts  forming  a 
pleasant  walk,  the  bastions  being  turned  into  pretty 
little  gardens.  Many  of  the  old  culverins,  which 
threw  lead-covered  bricks  among  the  Irish  ranks, 
have  been  preserved,  and  may  still  be  seen  among 
the  leaves  and  flowers.  The  cathedral  is  filled  with 
relics  and  trophies,  and  over  its  altar  may  be  ob- 
served the  French  flag-staffs,  taken  by  the  garrison  in 
a  desperate  sally,  the  flags  they  once  bore  long  since 
reduced  to  dust.  Two  anniversaries  are  still  kept, — 
that  of  the  day  on  which  the  gates  were  closed,  that 
of  the  day  on  which  the  siege  was  raised, — salutes, 
processions,  banquets,  addresses,  sermons  signalizing 
these  two  great  events  in  the  history  of  a  city  which 
passed  through  so  frightful  a  baptism  of  war,  but  haa 
ever  since  been  the  abode  of  peace. 


THE  HUNTING    OF  BRAEMAR, 

In  the  great  forest  of  Braemar,  in  the  Highlands 
of  Scotland,  was  gathered  a  large  party  of  huntci's, 
chiefs,  and  clansmen,  all  dressed  in  the  Highland  cos- 
tume, and  surrounded  by  extensive  preparations  for 
the  comfort  and  enjoyment  of  all  concerned.  Sel- 
dom, indeed,  had  so  many  great  lords  been  gathered 
for  such  an  occasion.  On  the  invitation  of  the  Earl 
of  Mar,  within  whose  domain  the  hunt  was  to  take 
place,  there  had  come  together  the  Marquises  of 
Huntly  and  Tulliebardine,  the  Earls  of  Nithsdale, 
Marischal,  Traquair,  Errol,  and  several  others,  and 
numerous  viscounts,  lords,  and  chiefs  of  clans,  many 
of  the  most  important  of  the  nobility  and  clan  lead- 
ers of  the  Highlands  being  present. 

With  these  great  lords  were  hosts  of  clansmen,  all 
attired  in  the  picturesque  dress  of  the  Highlands, 
and  80  numerous  that  the  convocation  had  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  small  army,  the  sport  of  hunting  in 
those  days  being  often  practised  on  a  scale  of  mag- 
nificence resembling  war.  The  red  deer  of  the 
Highlands  were  the  principal  game,  and  the  method 
of  hunting  usually  employed  could  not  be  conducted 
without  the  aid  of  a  largo  body  of  men.  Around 
the  broad  extent  of  wild  forest  land  and  mountain 

297 


29S  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

wilderness,  which  formed  the  abiding-place  of  these 
animals,  a  circuit  of  hunters  many  miles  in  extent 
was  formed.  This  circuit  was  called  the  tinchel. 
Upon  a  given  signal,  the  hunters  composing  the 
circle  began  to  move  inwards,  rousing  the  deer  from 
their  lairs,  and  driving  them  before  them,  with  such 
ether  animals  as  the  forest  might  contain. 

Onward  moved  the  hunters,  the  circle  steadily 
growing  less,  and  the  terrified  beasts  becoming  more 
crowded  together,  until  at  length  they  were  driven 
down  some  narrow  defile,  along  whose  course  the 
lords  and  gentlemen  had  been  posted,  lying  in  wait 
for  the  coming  of  the  deer,  and  ready  to  show  their 
marksmanship  by  shooting  such  of  the  bucks  as  were 
in  season. 

The  hunt  with  which  we  are  at  present  concerned, 
however,  had  other  purposes  than  the  killing  of 
deer.  The  latter  ostensible  object  concealed  more 
secret  designs,  and  to  these  we  may  confine  our  at- 
tention. It  was  now  near  the  end  of  August,  1715. 
At  the  beginning  of  that  month,  the  Earl  of  Mar,  in 
company  with  General  Hamilton  and  Colonel  Hay, 
had  embarked  at  Gravesend,  on  the  Thames,  all  in 
disguise  and  under  assumed  names.  To  keep  their 
secret  the  better,  they  had  taken  passage  on  a  coal 
eloop,  agreeing  to  work  their  way  like  common  sea- 
men ;  and  in  this  humble  guise  they  continued  until 
Newcastle  was  reached,  where  a  vessel  in  which  they 
could  proceed  with  more  comfort  was  engaged. 
From  this  craft  they  landed  at  the  small  port  of 
Elie,  on  the  coast  of  Fife,  a  country  then  well  filled 
with  Jacobites,  or  adherents  to  the  cause  of  tho 


THE   HUNTING   OF   BRAEMAB.  299 

Stuart  princes.  Such  were  the  mystcrioua  prelim- 
inary  stops  towards  the  hunting-party  in  the  forest 
of  Braemar. 

In  truth,  the  hunt  was  Httle  more  than  a  pretence. 
"While  the  clansmen  were  out  forming  the  tinchel,  tho 
lords  were  assembled  in  secret  convocation,  in  whi";!! 
the  Earl  of  Mar  eloquently  counselled  resistance  to 
the  rule  of  King  George,  and  the  taking  of  arms  in 
the  cause  of  James  Francis  Edward,  son  of  the  exiled 
James  II.,  and,  as  he  argued,  the  on  ly  true  heir  to  the 
English  throne.  He  told  them  that  he  had  been 
promised  abundant  aid  in  men  and  money  from 
France,  and  assured  them  that  a  rising  in  Scotland 
would  be  followed  by  a  general  insurrection  in  Eng- 
land against  the  Hanoverian  dynasty.  He  is  said 
to  have  shown  letters  from  the  Stuart  prince,  the 
Chevalier  de  St.  George,  as  he  was  called,  making  the 
earl  his  lieutenant-general  and  commander-in-chief 
of  the  armies  of  Scotland. 

How  many  red  deer  were  killed  on  this  occasion 
no  one  can  say.  The  noble  guests  of  Mar  had  other 
things  to  think  of  than  of  singling  out  fat  bucks. 
None  of  them  opposed  the  earl  in  his  arguments,  and 
in  the  end  it  was  agreed  that  all  should  return  home, 
raise  what  forces  they  could  by  the  3d  of  September, 
and  meet  again  oti  that  day  at  Abojnie,  in  Aberdeen- 
shire, where  it  would  be  settled  how  they  were  to  take 
the  field. 

Thus  ended  that  celebrated  hunt  of  Braemar,  which 
was  destined  to  bring  tears  and  blood  to  many  a 
household  in  Scotland,  through  loyal  devotion  to  a 
prince  who  was  not  worth  the  sacrifice,  and  at  the 


300  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

bidding  of  an  earl  who  was  considered  by  many  as 
too  versatile  in  disposition  to  be  fully  trusted.  An 
anecdote  is  given  in  evidence  of  this  opinion.  The 
castle  of  Braemar  was,  as  a  result  of  the  hunt,  so 
overflowing  with  guests,  that  many  of  the  gentlemen 
of  secondary  importance  could  not  be  accommodated 
with  beds,  but  were  forced  to  spend  the  night  around 
the  kitchen  fire, — a  necessity  then  considered  no  sen 
OU8  matter  by  the  hardy  Scotch.  But  such  was  not 
the  opinion  of  all  present.  An  English  footman,  a 
domestic  of  the  earl,  came  pushing  among  the  gentle- 
men, complaining  bitterly  at  having  to  sit  up  all  night, 
and  saying  that  rather  than  put  up  with  much  of 
this  he  would  go  back  to  his  own  country  and  turn 
Whig.  As  to  his  Toryism,  however,  he  comforted 
himself  with  the  idea  that  he  served  a  lord  who  was 
especially  skilful  in  escaping  danger. 

"  Let  my  lord  alone,"  he  said ;  "  if  he  finds  it 
necessary,  he  can  turn  cat-in-pan  with  any  man  in 
England." 

While  these  doings  were  in  progress  in  the  High- 
lands, the  Jacobites  were  no  less  active  in  the  Low- 
lands, and  an  event  took  place  in  the  metropolis  of 
Scotland  which  showed  that  the  spirit  of  disaffection 
had  penetrated  within  its  walls.  This  was  an  attempt 
to  take  the  castle  of  Edinburgh  by  surprise, — an  ex- 
ploit parallel  in  its  risky  and  daring  character  with 
those  told  of  the  Douglas  and  other  bold  lords  at  an 
earlier  period. 

The  design  of  scaling  this  almost  inaccessible  strong- 
hold was  made  by  a  Mr.  Arthur,  who  had  been  an 
ensign  in  the  Scots'  Guards  and  quartered  in  the 


THE   HUNTING   OF    BRAEMAR.  301 

castle,  and  was,  therefore,  familiar  with  its  interior 
arrangement.  He  found  means  to  gain  over,  by  cash 
and  promises,  a  sergeant  and  two  privates,  who  agreed 
that,  M^hen  on  duty  as  sentinels  on  the  walls  over  the 
precipice  to  the  north,  tuey  would  draw  up  rope-lad- 
ders, and  fasten  them  by  grappling-irons  at  their  top 
to  the  battlements  of  the  castle.  This  done,  it  would 
be  easy  for  an  armed  party  to  scale  the  walls  and 
make  themselves  masters  of  the  stronghold.  Arthur's 
plan  did  not  end  with  the  mere  capture  of  the  for- 
tress. He  had  arranged  a  set  of  signals  with  the 
Earl  of  Mar,  consisting  of  a  beacon  displayed  at  a 
fixed  point  on  the  castle  walls,  three  rounds  of  artil- 
lery, and  a  succession  of  fires  flashing  the  news  from 
hill-top  to  hill-top.  The  earl,  thus  apprised  of  the 
success  of  the  adventurers,  was  to  hasten  south  with 
all  the  force  he  could  bring,  and  take  possession  of 
Edinburgh. 

The  scheme  was  well  devised,  and  might  have  suc- 
ceeded but  for  one  of  those  unlucky  chances  which 
have  defeated  so  many  well-laid  plans.  Agents  in  the 
enterprise  could  be  had  in  abundance.  Fifty  High- 
landers were  selected,  picked  men  from  Lord  Drum- 
mond's  estates  in  Perthshire.  To  these  were  added 
fifty  others  chosen  from  the  Jacobites  of  Edinbur<^h. 
Drummond,  otherwise  known  as  MacGregor,  of  Ea 
haldie,  was  given  the  command.  The  scheme  was  one 
of  great  moment.  Its  success  would  give  the  Earl  of 
Mar  a  large  supply  of  money,  arms,  and  ammunition, 
deposited  in  the  fortress,  and  control  of  the  greater 
part  of  Scotland,  while  affording  a  ready  means  of 
communication  with  the  English  malcontents. 
26  " 


302  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Unluckily  for  the  conspirators,  they  had  inoio 
courage  than  prudence.  Eighteen  of  the  younger 
men  were,  on  the  night  fixed,  amusing  themselves 
with  drinking  in  a  public-house,  and  talked  with  such 
freedom  that  the  hostess  discovered  their  secret. 
She  told  a  friend  that  the  party  consisted  of  some 
young  gentlemen  who  were  having  their  hair  pow- 
dered in  order  to  go  to  an  attack  on  the  castle. 
Arthur,  the  originator  of  the  enterprise,  also  made 
what  proved  to  be  a  dangerous  revelation.  He  en- 
gaged his  brother,  a  doctor,  in  the  scheme.  The 
brother  grew  so  nervous  and  low-spirited  that  his 
wife,  seeing  that  something  was  amiss  with  him,  gave 
him  no  rest  until  he  bad  revealed  the  secret.  She, 
perhaps  to  save  her  husband,  perhaps  from  Whig 
proclivities,  instantly  sent  an  anonj-mous  letter  to 
Sir  Adam  Cockburn,  lord  justice-clerk  of  Edinburgh, 
apprising  him  of  the  plot.  He  at  once  sent  the  in- 
telligence to  the  castle.  His  messenger  reached  there 
at  a  late  hour,  and  had  much  difficulty  in  gaining 
admittance.  When  he  did  so,  the  deputy-governor 
saw  fit  to  doubt  the  improbable  tidings  sent  him. 
The  only  precaution  he  took  was  to  direct  that  the 
rounds  and  patrols  should  be  made  with  great  care. 
With  this  provision  for  the  safety  of  the  castle,  ho 
went  to  bed,  doubtless  with  the  comfortable  feeling 
that  he  had  done  all  that  could  be  expected  of  a 
reasonable  man  in  so  improbable  a  case. 

While  this  was  going  on,  the  storming-party  had 
collected  at  the  church-yard  of  the  West  Kirk,  and 
from  there  proceeded  to  the  chosen  place  at  the  foot 
of  the  castle  walls.    There  had  been  a  serious  failure, 


THE   HUNTING   OF   BRAEMAR.  303 

however,  in  their  preparations.  They  had  with  thcra 
a  part  of  the  rope-ladders  on  which  their  success 
depended,  but  he  who  was  to  have  been  there  with 
the  remainder — Charles  Forbes,  an  Edinburgh  mer- 
chant, who  had  attended  to  their  making — was  not 
present,  and  they  awaited  him  in  vain. 

Without  him  nothing  could  be  done ;  but,  impatient 
at  the  delay,  the  party  made  their  way  with  difficulty 
up  the  steep  cliflf,  and  at  length  reached  the  foot  of 
the  castle  wall.  Here  they  found  on  duty  one  of  the 
sentinels  whom  they  had  bribed ;  but  he  warned 
them  to  make  haste,  saying  that  he  was  to  be  relieved 
at  twelve  o'clock,  and  after  that  hour  he  could  give 
them  no  aid. 

The  affair  was  growing  critical.  The  midnight 
hour  was  fast  approaching,  and  Forbes  was  still 
absent.  Drummond,  the  leader,  had  the  sentinel  to 
draw  up  the  ladder  they  had  with  them  and  fasten 
it  to  the  battlements,  to  see  if  it  were  long  enough 
for  their  purpose.  He  did  so ;  but  it  proved  to  bo 
more  than  a  fathom  short. 

And  now  happened  an  event  fatal  to  their  enter- 
prise. The  information  sent  the  deputy-go vernoi, 
and  his  direction  that  the  patrols  should  be  alert,  bad 
tlie  effect  of  having  them  make  the  rounds  earlier 
than  usual.  They  came  at  half-past  eleven  instead 
of  at  twelve.  The  sentinel,  hearing  their  approach- 
ing steps,  had  but  one  thing  to  do  for  his  own  safety. 
He  cried  out  to  the  party  below,  with  an  oath, — 

"  Hero  come  the  rounds  I  have  been  telling  you  of 
this  half-hour ;  you  have  ruined  both  yourselves  and 
me ;  ]  can  serve  you  no  longer." 


304  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

With  these  words,  he  loosened  the  grappling-irons 
and  flung  down  the  ladders,  and,  with  the  natural 
impulse  to  cover  his  guilty  knowledge  of  the  affair, 
fired  his  musket,  with  a  loud  cry  of  "Enemies!" 

This  alarm  cry  forced  the  storming-party  to  fly 
wilh  all  speed.  The  patrol  saw  them  from  the  wall 
and  fired  on  them  as  they  scrambled  hastily  down 
Ihe  rocks.  One  of  them,  an  old  man.  Captain 
McLean,  rolled  down  the  cliff  and  was  much  hurt. 
He  was  taken  prisoner  by  a  party  of  the  burgher 
guard,  whom  the  justice-clerk  had  sent  to  patrol  the 
outside  of  the  walls.  They  took  also  three  young 
men,  who  protested  that  they  were  there  by  accident, 
and  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  attempt.  The  rest 
of  the  party  escaped.  In  their  retreat  they  met 
Charles  Forbes,  coming  tardily  up  with  the  ladders 
which,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  earlier,  might  have  made 
them  masters  of  the  castle,  but  which  were  now 
simply  an  aggravation. 

It  does  not  seem  that  any  one  was  punished  for 
this  attempt,  beyond  the  treacherous  sergeant,  who 
was  tried,  found  guilty,  and  hanged,  and  the  deputy- 
governor,  who  was  deprived  of  his  oflSce  and  im- 
prisoned for  some  time.  No  proof  could  be  obtained 
against  any  one  else. 

As  for  the  conspirators,  indeed,  it  is  probable  that 
the  most  of  them  found  their  way  to  the  army  of 
the  Earl  of  Mar,  who  was  soon  afterwards  in  the 
field  at  the  head  of  some  twelve  thousand  armed  men, 
pronouncing  himself  the  general  of  His  Majesty 
James  III., — known  to  history  as  the  "Old  Pre- 
tender." 


THE   HUNTING   OP   BRAEMAR.  305 

What  followed  this  outbreak  it  is  not  our  purpose 
to  describe.  It  will  suflSco  to  say  that  Mar  was  more 
ekilful  as  a  conspirator  than  as  a  general,  that  his 
army  was  defeated  by  Argyle  at  Sheriffmuir,  and 
that,  when  Prince  James  landed  in  December,  it  was 
to  find  his  adherents  fugitives  and  his  cause  in  a 
desperate  state.  Perceiving  that  success  was  past 
hope,  he  made  his  way  back  to  Prance  in  the  fol- 
lowing month,  the  Earl  of  Mar  going  with  him,  and 
thus,  as  his  English  footman  had  predicted,  escaping 
the  fate  which  was  dealt  out  freely  to  those  whom 
he  had  been  instrumental  in  drawing  into  the  out- 
break. Many  of  these  paid  with  their  lives  for  their 
participation  in  the  rebellion,  but  Mar  lived  to  con- 
tinue his  plotting  for  a  number  of  years  afterwards, 
though  it  cannot  be  said  that  his  later  plots  were 
more  notable  for  success  than  the  one  we  have 
described. 


u.--m  «• 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  PRINCE 
CHARLES, 

It  was  early  morning  on  the  Hebrides,  that 
crowded  group  of  rocky  islands  on  the  west  coast 
of  Scotland  where  fish  and  anglers  much  do  con 
gregate.  From  one  of  these,  South  TJist  by  name, 
a  fishing-boat  had  put  out  at  an  early  hour,  and  was 
now,  with  a  fresh  breeze  in  its  sail,  making  its  way 
swiftly  over  the  ruffled  waters  of  the  Irish  Channel. 
Its  occupants,  in  addition  to  the  two  watermen  who 
managed  it,  were  three  persons, — two  women  and  a 
man.  To  all  outward  appearance  only  one  of  these 
was  of  any  importance.  This  was  a  young  lady  of 
bright  and  attractive  face,  dressed  in  a  plain  and 
serviceable  travelling-costume,  but  evidently  of  good 
birth  and  training.  Iler  companions  were  a  man 
and  a  maid-servant,  the  latter  of  unusual  height  for 
a  woman,  and  with  an  embrowned  and  roughened 
face  that  indicated  exposure  to  severe  hardships  of 
life  and  climate.  The  man  was  a  thorough  High- 
lander, red-bearded,  shock-haired,  and  of  weather- 
beaten  aspect. 

The  boat  had  already  made  a  considerable  distance 
from  the  shore  when  its  occupants  found  themselves 
in  near  vicinity  to  another  small  craft,  which  was 
306 


THE   FLIGUT   OF   PRINCE   CHARLES.  307 

moving  lazily  in  a  line  parallel  to  the  island  coast. 
At  a  distance  to  right  and  left  other  boats  wero 
visible.  The  island  waters  seemed  to  bo  patrolled. 
As  the  fishing-boat  came  near,  the  craft  just  men- 
tioned shifted  its  course  and  sailed  towards  it.  It 
was  sufficiently  near  to  show  that  it  contained  armed 
men,  one  of  them  in  uniform.  A  hail  now  camo 
across  the  waters. 

"  "What  boat  is  that  ?    "Whom  have  you  on  board  ?" 

"A  lady ;  on  her  way  to  Skye,"  answered  the  boat- 
man. 

"  "Up  helm,  and  lay  yourself  alongside  of  us.  "We 
must  see  who  you  are." 

The  fishermen  obeyed.  They  had  reason  to  know 
that,  just  then,  there  was  no  other  course  to  pursue. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  two  boats  were  riding  side  by 
side,  lifting  and  falling  lazily  on  the  long  Atlantic 
swell.  The  lady  looked  up  at  the  uniformed  per- 
sonage, who  seemed  an  officer. 

"  My  name  is  Flora  McDonald,"  she  said.  "  These 
persons  are  my  servants.  My  father  is  in  command 
of  the  McDonalds  on  South  Uist.  I  have  been  visit- 
ing at  Clanranald,  and  am  now  on  my  way  homo." 

"Forgive  me,  Miss  McDonald,"  said  the  officer, 
courteously ;  "  but  our  orders  arc  precise ;  no  one  can 
leave  the  island  without  a  pass." 

"I  know  it,"  she  replied,  with  dignity,  "and  have 
provided  myself.  Here  is  my  passport,  signed  by 
my  father." 

The  officer  took  and  ran  his  eye  over  it  quickly: 
"Flora  McDonald;  with  two  servants,  Betty  Bru3e 
and  Malcolm  Eae,"  ho  read.    Uis  gaze  moved  rapidly 


308  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

over  the  occupants  of  the  boat,  resting  for  a  moment 
on  the  bright  and  intelligent  face  of  the  young 
lady. 

"This  seems  all  right,  Miss  McDonald,"  he  said, 
respectfully,  returning  her  the  paper.  "  You  can 
pass.     Good-by,  and  a  pleasant  journey." 

"Many  thanks,"  she  answered.  "You  should  be 
successful  in  catching  the  bird  that  is  seeking  to  fly 
from  that  island.     Your  net  is  spread  wide  enough." 

"I  hardly  think  our  bird  will  get  through  the 
meshes,"  he  answered,  laughingly. 

In  a  few  minutes  more  they  were  wide  asunder. 
A  peculiar  smile  rested  on  the  face  of  the  lady,  which 
seemed  reflected  from  the  countenances  of  her  at- 
tendants, but  not  a  word  was  said  on  the  subject  of 
the  recent  incident. 

Their  reticence  continued  until  the  rocky  shores 
of  the  Isle  of  Skye  were  reached,  and  the  boat  was 
put  into  one  of  the  many  inlets  that  break  its  ir- 
regular contour.  Silence,  indeed,  was  maintained 
until  they  had  landed  on  a  rocky  shelf,  and  the  boat 
had  pushed  off  on  its  return  journey.  Then  Flora 
McDonald  spoke. 

"  So  fur  we  are  safe,"  she  said.  "  But  I  confess  1 
was  frightfully  scared  when  that  patrol-boat  stopped 
us." 

"  You  did  not  look  so,"  said  Betty  Bruce,  in  a  voice 
of  masculine  depth. 

"I  did  not  dare  to,"  she  answered.  "If  I  had 
looked  what  I  felt,  we  would  never  have  passed.  But 
let  us  continue  our  jom-ney.  We  have  no  time  to 
spare." 


THE   FLIGHT   OF   PRINCE   CHARLES.  309 

It  -was  a  rocky  and  desolate  spot  on  which  they 
stood,  the  rugged  rock-shelves  which  came  to  the 
water's  edge  gradually  rising  to  high  hills  in  the 
distance.  But  as  they  advanced  inland  the  appear- 
ance of  the  island  improved,  and  signs  of  human 
habitation  appeared.  They  had  not  gone  far  before 
the  huts  of  fishermen  and  others  became  visible, 
planted  in  little  clearings  among  the  rocks,  whose 
inmates  looked  with  eyes  of  curiosity  on  the  stran- 
gers. This  was  particularly  the  case  when  they 
passed  through  a  small  village,  at  no  great  distance 
inland.  Of  the  three  persons,  it  was  the  maid-ser- 
vant, Betty  Bruce,  that  attracted  most  attention,  her 
appearance  giving  rise  to  some  degree  of  amusement. 
Nor  was  this  without  reason.  The  woman  was  so 
ungainly  in  appearance,  and  walked  with  so  awkward 
a  stride,  that  the  skirts  which  clung  round  her  heels 
seemed  a  decided  incumbrance  to  her  progress.  Her 
face,  too,  presented  a  roughness  that  gave  hint  of 
possibilities  of  a  beard.  She  kept  unobtrusively 
behind  her  mistress,  her  peculiar  gait  set  the  good- 
wives  of  the  village  whispering  and  laughing  as  they 
pointed  her  out. 

For  several  miles  the  travellers  proceeded,  follow- 
ing the  general  direction  of  the  coast,  and  apparently 
endeavoring  to  avoid  all  collections  of  human  habi- 
tations. Now  and  then,  however,  they  met  persons 
in  the  road,  who  gazed  at  them  with  the  same  curi- 
osity as  those  they  had  already  passed. 

The  scenery  before  them  grew  finer  as  they  ad- 
vanced. Near  nightfall  they  came  near  mountainous 
elevations,  abutting  on  the  sea-shore  in  great  clifl's 


iilO  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

of  columnar  basalt,  a  thousand  feet  and  more  in 
height,  over  which  leaped  here  and  there  waterfalit' 
of  great  height  and  beauty.  Their  route  now  lay 
along  the  base  of  these  cliffs,  on  the  narrow  strip  of 
land  between  them  and  the  sea. 

Here  they  paused,  just  as  the  sun  was  shedding  its 
last  rays  upon  the  water.  Seating  themselves  on 
some  protruding  boulders,  they  entered  into  conver- 
sation, the  fair  Flora's  face  presenting  an  expression 
of  doubt  and  trouble. 

*'  I  do  not  like  the  looks  of  the  people,"  she  said. 
"  They  watch  you  too  closely.  And  we  are  still  in 
the  country  of  Sir  Alexander,  a  land  filled  with  otir 
enemies.  If  you  were  only  a  better  imitation  of  a 
woman." 

*'  Faith,  I  fear  I'm  but  an  awkward  sample,"  an- 
swered Betty,  in  a  voice  of  man-like  tone.  ''  I  have 
been  doing  my  best,  but " 

"But  the  lion  cannot  change  his  skin,"  supph'ed 
the  lady.  "  This  will  not  do.  We  must  take  other 
measures.  But  our  first  duty  is  to  find  the  shelter 
fixed  for  to-night.  It  will  not  do  to  tarry  here  till  it 
grows  dark." 

They  rose  and  proceeded,  following  Malcolm,  who 
acted  as  guide.  The  place  was  deserted,  and  Betty 
stepped  out  with  a  stride  of  most  unmaidenly  length, 
as  if  to  gain  relief  from  her  late  restraint.  Her 
manner  now  would  have  revealed  the  secret  to  any 
shrewd  obsei'ver.  The  ungainly  maid-servant  was 
evidently  a  man  in  disguise. 

We  cannot  follow  their  journey  closely.  It  will 
Buflico  to  say  that  the  awkwardness  of  the  assumed 


THE   FLIGHT  OF   PRINCE   CHARLES.  311 

Betty  gave  rise  to  suspicion  on  more  than  one  ocea- 
«ion  in  the  next  day  or  two.  It  became  evident  that, 
if  the  secret  of  the  disguised  personage  was  not  to 
be  discovered,  they  must  cease  their  wanderings; 
some  shelter  must  be  provided,  and  a  safer  means  of 
progress  be  devised. 

A  shelter  was  obtained, — one  that  promised 
security.  In  the  base  of  the  basaltic  cliffs  of  which 
we  have  spoken  many  caverns  had  been  excavated 
by  the  winter  surges  of  the  sea.  In  one  of  these, 
near  the  village  of  Portree,  and  concealed  from  too 
easy  observation,  the  travellers  found  refuge.  Food 
was  obtained  by  Malcolm  from  the  neighboring 
settlement,  and  some  degree  of  comfort  provided  for. 
Leaving  her  disguised  companion  in  this  shelter,  with 
Malcolm  for  company.  Flora  went  on.  She  had 
devised  a  plan  of  procedure  not  without  risk,  but 
which  seemed  necessary.  It  was  too  perilous  to  con- 
tinue as  they  had  done  during  the  few  past  days. 

Leaving  our  travellers  thus  situated,  we  will  go 
back  in  time  to  consider  the  events  which  led  to  this 
journey  in  disguise.  It  was  now  July,  the  year  being 
1746.  On  the  16th  of  April  of  the  same  year  a  fierce 
battle  had  been  fought  on  CuUoden  moor  between 
the  English  army  under  the  Duke  of  Cumberland 
and  the  host  of  Highlanders  led  by  Charles  Edward 
Stuart,  the  "  Young  Pretender."  Fierce  had  been 
the  fray,  terrible  the  bloodshed,  fatal  the  defeat  of 
the  Highland  clans.  Ecatcn  and  broken,  they  had 
fled  in  all  directions  for  safety,  hotly  pursued  by 
their  victorious  foes. 

Prince  Charles  had  fought  bravely  on  the  field; 


312  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

and,  after  the  fatal  disaster,  had  fled — having  with 
him  only  a  few  Irish  officers  whose  good  faith  he 
trusted — to  Gortuleg,  the  residence  of  Lord  Lovat. 
If  he  hoped  for  shelter  there,  he  found  it  not.  He 
was  overcome  with  distress ;  Lord  Lovat,  with  fear 
and  embarrassment.  No  aid  was  to  be  had  from 
Lovat,  and,  obtaining  some  slight  refreshment,  the 
prince  rode  on. 

He  obtained  his  next  rest  and  repast  at  Invergarry, 
the  castle  of  the  laird  of  Glengarry,  and  continued 
his  journey  into  the  west  Highlands,  where  he  found 
shelter  in  a  village  called  Glenbeisdale,  near  where 
he  had  landed  on  his  expedition  for  the  conquest  of 
England.  For  nearly  a  year  he  had  been  in  Scotland, 
pursuing  a  career  of  mingled  success  and  defeat,  and 
was  now  back  at  his  original  landing-place,  a  hope- 
less fugitive.  Here  some  of  the  leaders  of  his  late 
army  communicated  with  him.  They  had  a  thousand 
men  still  together,  and  vowed  that  they  would  not 
give  up  hope  while  there  were  cattle  in  the  High- 
lands or  meal  in  the  Lowlands.  But  Prince  Charles 
refused  to  deal  with  such  a  forlorn  hope.  He  would 
seek  France,  he  said,  and  return  with  a  powerful 
reinforcement.  AVith  this  answer  he  left  the  main- 
land, sailing  for  Long  Island,  in  the  Hebrides,  where 
he  hoped  to  find  a  French  vessel. 

And  now  dangers,  disappointments,  and  hardships 
surrounded  the  fugitive.  The  rebellion  was  at  an 
end ;  retribution  was  in  its  full  tide.  The  Highlands 
were  being  scoured,  the  remnants  of  the  defeated 
army  scattered  or  massacred,  the  adherents  of  the 
Pretender  seized,  and  Charles  himself  was  sought 


THE   FLIGHT   OF  PRINCE   CHARLES.  313 

for  with  unremitting  activity.  The  islands  in  par- 
ticular were  closely  searched,  as  it  was  believed  that 
he  had  fled  to  their  shelter.  His  peril  was  extreme. 
No  vessel  was  to  be  had.  Storms,  contrary  winds, 
various  disappointments  attended  him.  He  sought 
one  hiding-place  after  another  in  Long  Island  and 
those  adjoining,  exposed  to  severe  hardships,  and 
frequently  having  to  fly  from  one  place  of  shelter  to 
another.  In  the  end  he  reached  the  island  of  South 
Uist,  where  he  found  a  faithful  friend  in  Clanranald, 
one  of  his  late  adherents.  Here  he  was  lodged  in  a 
ruined  forester's  hut,  situated  near  the  summit  of  tho 
wild  mountain  called  Corradale.  Even  this  remote 
and  almost  inaccessible  shelter  grew  dangerous. 
The  island  was  suspected,  and  a  force  of  not  less  than 
two  thousand  men  landed  on  it,  with  orders  to  search 
the  interior  with  the  closest  scrutiny,  while  small 
vvar-vessels,  cutters,  armed  boats,  and  the  like  sur- 
rounded the  island,  rendering  escape  by  water  almost 
hopeless.  It  was  in  this  critical  state  of  aftairs  that 
the  devotion  of  a  woman  came  to  the  rescue  of  tho 
imperilled  Prince.  Flora  McDonald  was  visiting  the 
family  of  Clanranald.  She  wished  to  return  to  her 
home  in  Skye.  At  her  suggestion  the  chief  provided 
her  with  the  attendants  whom  we  have  already 
described,  her  awkward  maid-servant  Betty  Bruce 
being  no  less  a  personage  than  the  wandering  prince. 
The  daring  and  devoted  lady  was  step-daughter  to  a 
chief  of  Sir  Alexander  McDonald's  clan,  who  was  on 
tho  king's  side,  and  in  command  of  a  section  of  the 
party  of  search.  From  him  Flora  obtained  a  jjass- 
port  for  herseli'  and  two  seivants,  and  was  thua 
o  27 


314  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

enabled  to  pass  in  safety  through  the  cordon  of 
investiug  boats.  No  one  suspected  the  humble- 
looking  Betty  Bruce  as  being  a  flj^ng  prince.  And 
60  it  was  that  the  bird  had  passed  through  the  net 
of  the  fowlers,  and  found  shelter  in  the  island  of 
Skye. 

And  now  we  must  return  to  the  fugitives,  whom 
we  left  concealed  in  a  basaltic  cavern  on  the  rocky 
coast  of  Skye.  The  keen-witted  Flora  had  devised 
a  new  and  bold  plan  for  the  safety  of  her  charge,  no 
less  a  one  than  that  of  trusting  the  Lady  Margaret 
McDonald,  wife  of  Sir  Alexander,  with  her  danger- 
ous secret.  This  seemed  like  penetrating  the  very 
stronghold  of  the  foe ;  but  the  women  of  the 
Highlands  had — most  of  them — a  secret  leaning  to 
Jacobitism,  and  Flora  felt  that  she  could  trust  her 
high-born  relative. 

She  did  so,  telling  Lady  Margaret  her  story.  The 
lady  heard  it  with  intense  alarm.  What  to  do  she 
did  not  know.  She  would  not  betray  the  prince,  but 
her  husband  was  absent,  her  house  filled  with  militia 
officers,  and  shelter  within  its  walls  impossible.  In 
this  dilemma  she  suggested  that  Flora  should  con- 
duct the  disguised  prince  to  the  house  of  McDonald 
of  Kingsburgh,  her  husband's  steward,  a  brave  and 
intelligent  man,  in  whom  she  could  fully  trust. 

Eeturning  to  the  cavern,  the  courageous  girl  did 
as  suggested,  and  had  the  good  fortune  to  bring  her 
charge  through  in  safety,  though  more  than  once 
suspicion  was  raised.  At  Kingsburgh  the  connec- 
tion of  Flora  McDonald  with  the  unfortunate  prince 
ended.    Her  wit  and  shrewdness  had  saved  him  from 


THE   FLIGHT   OP   PRINCE   CHARLES.  015 

Inevitable  capture.  He  was  now  out  of  the  imme- 
diate range  of  search  of  his  enemies,  and  must  hence- 
forth trust  to  his  own  devices. 

From  Kingsburgh  the  fugitive  sought  the  island 
of  Easa,  led  by  a  guide  supplied  by  McDonald,  and 
wearing  the  dress  of  a  servant.  The  laird  of  Easa 
had  taken  part  in  the  rebellion,  and  his  domain  had 
been  plundered  in  consequence.  Food  was  scarce, 
and  Charles  suffered  great  distress.  He  next  fol- 
lowed his  seeming  master  to  the  land  of  the  laird 
of  MacKinnon,  but,  finding  himself  still  in  peril,  felt 
compelled  to  leave  the  islands,  and  once  more  landed 
on  the  Scottish  mainland  at  Loch  Nevis. 

Here  his  peril  was  as  imminent  as  it  had  been  at 
South  Uist.  It  was  the  country  of  Lochiel,  Glen- 
garry, and  other  Jacobite  chiefs,  and  was  filled  with 
soldiers,  diligently  seeking  the  leaders  of  the  insur- 
rection. Charles  and  his  guides  found  themselves 
surrounded  by  foes.  A  complete  line  of  sentinels, 
who  crossed  each  other  upon  their  posts,  inclosed  the 
district  in  which  he  had  sought  refuge,  and  escape 
seemed  impossible.  The  countr}-  was  rough,  bushy, 
and  broken  ;  and  he  and  his  companions  were  forced 
to  hide  in  defiles  and  woodland  shelters,  where  they 
dared  not  light  a  fire,  and  from  which  they  could  see 
distant  soldiers  and  hear  the  calls  of  the  sentinels. 

For  two  days  they  remained  thus  cooped  up,  not 
knowing  at  what  minute  they  might  be  taken,  and 
almost  hopeless  of  escape.  Fortunately,  they  dis- 
covered a  deep  and  dark  ravine  that  led  down  from 
the  mountains  through  the  hne  of  sentries.  The 
posts  of  two  of  these  reached  to  the  edges  of  tho 


516  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

ravine,  on  opposite  sides.  Down  this  gloomy  and 
rough  defile  crept  noiselessly  the  fugitives,  hearing 
the  tread  of  the  sentinels  above  their  heads  as  they 
passed  the  point  of  danger.  No  alarm  was  given, 
and  the  hostile  line  was  safely  passed.  Once  more 
the  fugitive  prince  had  escaped. 

And  now  for  a  considerable  time  Charles  wandered 
through  the  rough  Highland  mountains,  his  clothes 
in  rags,  often  without  food  and  shelter,  and  not 
daring  to  kindle  a  fire;  vainly  hoping  to  find  a 
French  vessel  hovering  off  the  coast,  and  at  length 
reaching  the  mountains  of  Strathglass.  Here  ho, 
with  Glenaladale,  his  companion  at  that  time,  sought 
shelter  in  a  cavern,  only  to  find  it  the  lurking-place 
of  a  gang  of  robbers,  or  rather  of  outlaws,  who  had 
taken  part  in  the  rebellion,  and  were  here  in  hiding. 
There  were  seven  of  these,  who  lived  on  sheep  and 
cattle  raided  in  the  suri-ounding  country. 

These  men  looked  on  the  ragged  suppliants  of  their 
good-will  at  first  as  fugitives  of  their  own  stamp. 
But  they  quickly  recognized,  in  the  most  tattered  of 
the  wanderers,  that  "  Bonnie  Charhe"  for  whom  they 
had  risked  their  lives  upon  the  battle-field,  and  for 
whom  they  still  felt  a  passionate  devotion.  They 
hailed  his  appearance  among  them  with  gladness, 
and  expressed  themselves  as  his  ardent  and  faithful 
servants  in  life  and  death. 

In  this  den  of  robbers  the  unfortunate  prince  was 
soon  made  more  comfortable  than  he  had  been  since 
his  flight  from  Culloden.  Their  faith  was  unques- 
tionable, their  activity  in  his  service  unremitting. 
Food  was  abundant,  and,  in   addition,  they  volun- 


THE   FLIGHT   OP   PRINCE   CHARLES.  317 

teered  to  provide  him  with  decent  clothing,  and 
tidings  of  the  movements  of  the  enemy.  The  first 
was  accomplished  somewhat  ferociously.  Two  of  the 
outlaws  met  the  servant  of  an  officer,  on  his  way  to 
Fort  Augustus  with  his  master's  baggage  This  poor 
fellow  they  killed,  and  thus  provided  their  guest  with 
a  good  stock  of  clothing.  Another  of  them,  in  dis- 
guise, made  his  way  into  Fort  Augustus.  Here  he 
learned  much  about  the  movements  of  the  troops, 
and,  eager  to  provide  the  prince  with  something 
choice  in  the  way  of  food,  brought  him  back  a  pen- 
nyworth of  gingerbread, — a  valuable  luxury  to  his 
simple  soul. 

For  three  weeks  Charles  remained  with  these  hum- 
ble but  devoted  friends.  It  was  not  easy  to  break 
away  from  their  enthusiastic  loyalty. 

"  Stay  with  us,"  they  said ;  "  the  mountains  of  gold 
which  the  government  has  set  upon  your  head  may 
induce  some  gentleman  to  betray  you,  for  he  can  go 
to  a  distant  country  and  live  upon  the  price  of  his 
dishonor.  But  to  us  there  exists  no  such  temptation. 
"We  can  speak  no  language  but  our  own,  we  can  live 
nowhere  but  in  this  country,  where,  were  we  to 
injure  a  hair  of  _>our  head,  the  very  mountains  would 
fall  down  to  crush  us  to  death.  Do  not  leave  us, 
then.     You  will  nowhere  be  so  safe  as  with  us." 

This  advice  was  hardly  to  Charles's  taste.  He  pre 
ferred  coui't-lifo  in  France  to  cave-life  in  Scotland, 
and  did  not  cease  his  efforts  to  escape.  His  pur- 
poses were  aided  by  an  instance  of  enthusiastic 
devotion.  A  young  man  named  McKenzie,  son  of 
an  Edinburgh  goldsmith,  and  a  fugitive  officer  from 
27* 


3 IS  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

the  defeated  army,  happened  to  resemble  the  prince 
closely  in  face  and  person.  He  was  attacked  by  a 
party  of  soldiers,  defended  himself  bravely,  and  when 
mortally  wounded,  cried  out,  "  Ah,  villains,  you  have 
slain  your  prince !" 

His  generous  design  proved  successful.  His  head 
was  cut  off,  and  sent  to  London  as  that  of  the 
princely  fugitive,  which  it  resembled  so  closely  that 
it  was  some  time  before  the  mistake  was  discovered. 
This  error  proved  of  the  utmost  advantage  to  the 
prince.  The  search  was  greatly  relaxed,  and  ho 
found  it  safe  to  leave  the  shelter  of  his  cave,  and 
seek  some  of  his  late  adherents,  of  whose  move- 
ments he  had  been  kept  informed.  He  therefore 
bade  farewell  to  the  faithful  outlaws,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  two,  who  accompanied  him  as  guides  and 
guards. 

Safety  was  not  yet  assured.  It  was  with  much 
difficulty,  and  at  great  risk,  that  he  succeeded  in 
meeting  his  lurking  adherents,  Lochicl  and  Cluny 
McPherson,  who  were  hiding  in  Badenoch.  Here 
was  an  extensive  forest,  the  property  of  Cluny,  ex- 
teudinfiT  over  the  side  of  a  mountain,  called  Benalder. 
In  a  deep  thicket  of  this  forest  was  a  well-concealed 
hut,  called  the  Cage.  In  this  the  fugitives  took  up 
their  residence,  and  lived  there  in  some  degree  of 
comfort  and  safety,  the  game  of  the  forest  and  its 
waters  supplying  them  with  abundant  food. 

Word  was  soon  after  brought  to  Charles  that  two 
French  frigates  had  an-ived  at  Lochnanuagh,  their 
purpose  being  to  carry  him  and  other  fugitives  to 
France.     The  ne  fvs  of  their  arrival  spread  rapidly 


THE  FLIGHT   OP  PRINCE   CHARLES.  319 

through  the  district,  which  held  many  fugitives  from 
Culloden,  and  on  the  20th  of  September  Charles  and 
Lochiel,  with  nearly  one  hundred  others  of  his  party, 
embarked  on  these  friendly  vessels,  and  set  sail  for 
Franco.  Cluny  McPhcrson  refused  to  go.  He  re- 
mained concealed  in  his  own  country  for  several 
years,  and  served  as  the  agent  by  which  Charles  kept 
up  a  correspondence  with  the  Highlanders. 

On  September  29  the  fugitive  prince  landed  near 
Morlaix,  in  Brittany,  having  been  absent  from  France 
thirteen  months,  five  of  which  had  been  months  of 
the  most  perilous  and  precarious  series  of  escapes 
and  adventures  ever  recorded  of  a  princely  fugitive 
in  history  or  romance.  During  these  months  of 
flight  and  concealment  several  hundred  persons  had 
been  aware  of  his  movements,  but  none,  high  or  low, 
noble  or  outlaw,  had  a  thought  of  betraying  hia 
secret.  Among  them  all,  the  devoted  Flora  McDon- 
ald stands  first,  and  her  name  has  become  historically 
famous  through  her  invaluable  services  to  the 
prince. 


TRAFALGAR  AND   THE  DEATH 

OF  NELSON. 

From  the  main  peak  of  the  flag-ship  Victory  hung 
out  Admiral  Nelson's  famous  signal,  "England  ex- 
pects every  man  to  do  his  duty!"  an  inspiring  appeal, 
which  has  been  the  motto  of  English  warriors  since 
that  day.  The  fleet  under  the  command  of  the  great 
admiral  was  drawing  slowly  in  upon  the  powerful 
naval  array  of  France,  which  lay  awaiting  him  off 
the  rocky  shore  of  Cape  Trafalgar.  It  was  the  morn- 
ing of  October  21,  1805,  the  dawn  of  the  greatest 
day  in  the  naval  history  of  Great  Britain. 

Let  us  rapidly  trace  the  events  which  led  up  to 
this  scene, — the  prologue  to  the  drama  about  to  be 
played.  The  year  1805  was  one  of  threatening  peril 
to  England.  Napoleon  was  then  in  the  ambitious 
youth  of  his  power,  full  of  dreams  of  universal  em- 
pire, his  mind  set  on  an  invasion  of  the  pestilent 
Httle  island  across  the  channel  which  should  rival 
the  "  Invincible  Armada"  in  power  and  far  surpass 
it  in  performance. 

Gigantic  had  been  his  preparations.  Holland  and 
Belgium  were  his,  their  coast-line  added  to  that  of 
France.  In  a  hundred  harbors  all  was  activity, 
munitions  being  collected,  and  flat-bottomed  boats 
built,  in  readiness  to  carry  an  invading  army  to 
320 


a>^ 


TRAPALOAR   AND   THE    DEATH   OF   NELSON.  321 

England's  shores.  The  landing  of  William  the  Con- 
queror in  1066  was  to  bo  repeated  in  1805.  The  land 
forces  were  encamped  at  Boulogne.  Hero  the  arma- 
ment was  to  meet.  Meanwhile,  the  allied  fleets  of 
Fx'ance  and  Spain  were  to  patrol  tho  Channel,  ono 
I)art  of  them  to  keep  Nelson  at  bay,  the  other  part 
to  escort  the  flotilla  bearing  the  invading  army. 

"While  Napoleon  was  thus  busy,  his  enemies  were 
not  idle.  The  war-ships  of  England  hovered  near 
the  French  ports,  watching  all  movements,  doing 
what  damage  they  could.  Lord  Nelson  keenly  ob- 
served the  hostile  fleet.  To  throw  him  off  the  track, 
two  French  naval  squadrons  set  sail  for  the  West 
Indies,  as  if  to  attack  the  British  islands  there.  Nel- 
son followed.  Suddenly  turning,  the  decoying  squad- 
rons came  back  under  a  press  of  sail,  joined  the 
Spanish  fleet,  and  sailed  for  England.  Nelson  had 
not  returned,  but  a  strong  fleet  remained,  under  Sir 
Robert  Calder,  which  was  handled  in  such  fashion  as 
to  drive  the  hostile  ships  back  to  the  harbor  of  Cadiz. 

Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  when  Nelson  again 
reached  England.  Full  of  the  spirit  of  battle,  he 
hoisted  his  flag  on  the  battle-ship  Yictory,  and  set 
sail  in  search  of  his  foes.  There  were  twenty-seven 
line-of-battle  ships  and  four  frigates  under  his  com- 
mand. The  French  fleet,  under  Admiral  Yilleneuve, 
njmiber  thirty-three  sail  of  the  line  and  seven  frig- 
ates. Napoleon,  dissatisfied  with  the  disinclination 
of  his  fleet  to  meet  that  of  England,  and  confident 
in  its  strength,  issued  positive  orders,  and  Ville- 
neuve  sailed  out  of  the  harbor  of  Cadiz,  and  took 
position  in  two  crescent-shaped  lines  off  Cape  Trafal- 


322  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

gar.  As  soon  as  Nelson  saw  him  he  came  on  with 
the  eagerness  of  a  lion  in  sight  of  its  prey,  his  fleet 
likewise  in  two  lines,  his  signal  flags  fluttering  with 
the  inspiring  order,  "  England  expects  every  man  to 
do  his  duty." 

The  wind  was  from  the  west,  blowing  in  light 
Dreezes ;  a  long,  heavy  swell  ruffled  the  sea.  Down 
came  the  great  ships,  Collingwood,  in  the  Eoyal 
Sovereign,  commanding  the  lee-line ;  Nelson,  in  the 
Victory,  leading  the  weather  division.  One  order 
Nelson  had  given,  which  breathes  the  inflexible 
spirit  of  the  man.  "His  admu'als  and  captains, 
knowing  his  object  to  be  that  of  a  close  and  decisive 
action,  would  supply  any  deficiency  of  signals,  and 
act  accordingly.  In  case  signals  cannot  be  seen  or 
clearly  understood,  no  captain  can  do  wrong  if  he 
places  his  ship  alongside  that  of  an  enemy." 

Nelson  wore  that  day  his  admiral's  frock-coat, 
bearing  on  the  breast  four  stars,  the  emblems  of  the 
orders  with  which  he  had  been  invested.  His  ofiicers 
beheld  these  ornaments  with  apprehension.  There 
were  riflemen  on  the  French  ships.  Ho  was  offering 
himself  as  a  mark  for  their  aim.  Yet  none  dare 
suf'-ffest  that  he  should  remove  or  cover  tbe  stars. 
"  In  honor  I  gained  them,  and  in  honor  I  will  die 
with  them,"  he  had  said  on  a  previous  occasion. 

The  long  swell  set  in  to  the  bay  of  Cadiz.  The 
English  ships  moved  with  it,  all  sail  set,  a  light 
southwest  wind  filling  their  canvas.  Before  them 
lay  the  French  ships,  with  the  morning  sun  on  their 
Bails,  presenting  a  stately  and  beautiful  appearance. 

On  came  the  Euglish  fleet,  like  a  flock  of  giant 


TRAFALGAR    AND   THE   DEATH    bF   NELSON.  323 

birds  swooping  low  across  the  ocean.  Like  a  white 
floclc  at  rest  awaited  the  French  three-deckers.  Col- 
lingwood's  line  was  the  first  to  come  into  action, 
Nelson  steering  more  to  the  north,  that  the  flight  of 
the  enemy  to  Cadiz,  in  case  of  their  defeat,  should 
be  prevented.  Straight  for  the  centre  of  the  foe- 
man's  Hne  steered  the  Eoyal  Sovereign,  taking  her 
station  side  by  side  with  the  Santa  Anna,  which  she 
engaged  at  the  muzzle  of  her  guns. 

"  ^^^lat  would  Nelson  give  to  be  here  I"  exclaimed 
Collingwood.  in  delight. 

"  See  how  that  noble  fellow,  Collingwood,  carries 
his  ship  into  action !"  responded  Nelson  from  the  deck 
of  the  Victory. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  two  fleets  were  in  hot 
action,  the  British  ships  following  Collingwood's  lead 
in  coming  to  close  quarters  with  the  enemy.  As  the 
Victory  approached,  the  French  ships  opened  with 
broadsides  upon  her,  in  hopes  of  disabling  her  before 
she  could  close  with  them.  Not  a  shot  was  returned, 
though  men  were  falling  on  her  decks  until  fifty  lay 
dead  or  wounded,  and  her  main-top-mast,  with  all 
her  studding-sails  and  booms,  had  been  shot  away. 

"This  is  too  warm  work,  Hai'dv,  to  last,"  said 
Nelson,  with  a  smile,  as  a  splinter  tore  the  buckle 
from  the  captain's  shoe. 

Twelve  o'clock  came  and  passed.  The  Victory 
was  now  well  in.  Firing  from  both  sides  as  she 
advanced,  she  ran  in  side  by  side  with  the  Redoubt- 
able, of  the  French  fleet,  both  ships  pouring  broad- 
sides into  each  other.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the 
Redoubtable  came  up  the  English  ship  Tcmeraire, 


324  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

while  another  ship  of  the  enemy  lay  on  the  opposite 
Bide  of  the  latter. 

The  four  ships  lay  head  to  head  and  side  to  side, 
as  close  as  if  they  had  been  moored  together,  the 
muzzles  of  their  guns  almost  touching.  So  close 
were  they  that  the  middle-  and  lower-deck  guns  of 
the  Victory  had  to  be  depressed  and  fired  with  light 
charges,  lest  their  balls  should  pierce  through  the  foe 
and  injure  the  Temeraire.  And  lest  the  Eedoubtable 
should  take  fire  from  the  lower-deck  guns,  whose 
muzzles  touched  her  side  when  they  were  run  out, 
the  fireman  of  each  gun  stood  ready  with  a  bucket 
of  water  to  dash  into  the  hole  made  by  the  shot. 
While  the  starboard  guns  of  the  Victory  were  thus 
employed,  her  larboard  guns  were  in  full  play  upon 
the  Bucentaure  and  the  huge  Santissima  Trinidad. 
This  warm  work  was  repeated  through  the  entire 
fleet.     Never  had  been  closer  and  hotter  action. 

The  fight  had  reached  its  hottest  when  there  came 
a  tragical  event  that  rendered  the  victory  at  Traf- 
algar, glorious  as  it  was,  a  loss  to  England.  The  Ee- 
doubtable, after  her  first  broadside,  had  closed  her 
lower-deck  ports,  lest  the  English  should  board  her 
through  them.  She  did  not  fire  another  great  gun 
during  the  action.  But  her  tops,  like  those  of  her 
consorts,  were  filled  with  riflemen,  whose  balls  swept 
the  decks  of  the  assailing  ships.  One  of  these,  fired 
from  the  mizzen-top  of  the  Eedoubtable,  not  fifteen 
yards  from  where  Nelson  stood,  struck  him  on  the 
left  shoulder,  piercing  the  epaulette.  It  was  about 
quarter  after  one,  in  the  heat  of  the  action.  He  fell 
upon  his  face. 


TRAFALGAR   AND   THE   DEATH   OF   NELSON.  325 

'■  They  have  done  for  me,  at  last,  Hardy,"  he  said, 
as  his  captain  ran  to  his  assistance. 

•'  I  hope  not  I"  cried  Hardy. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied ;  "  mj-  backbone  is  shot  through." 

A  thorough  sailor  to  the  last,  he  saw,  as  they  were 
carrying  him  below,  that  the  tiller  ropes  which  had 
been  shot  away  were  not  replaced,  and  ordered  that 
this  should  be  immediately  attended  to.  Then,  that 
he  might  not  be  seen  by  the  crew,  he  spread  his 
handkerchief  over  his  face  and  his  stars.  But  for 
his  needless  risk  in  revealing  them  before,  he  might 
have  lived. 

The  cockpit  was  crowded  with  the  wounded  and 
dying  men.  Over  their  bodies  he  was  cai-ricd,  and 
laid  upon  a  pallet  in  the  midshipmen's  berth.  The 
wound  was  mortal.  A  brief  examination  showed 
this.  He  had  known  it  from  the  first,  and  said  to 
the  surgeon, — 

"Leave  me,  and  give  your  services  to  those  for 
whom  there  is  some  hope.  You  can  do  nothing  for 
me." 

Such  was  the  fact.  All  that  could  be  done  was  to 
fan  him,  and  relieve  his  intense  thirst  with  lemonade. 
On  dec-k  the  fight  continued  with  undiminished  fury. 
The  English  star  was  in  the  ascendant.  Ship  after 
ship  of  the  enemy  struck,  the  cheers  of  the  crew  of 
the  Victory  heralding  each  sun-ender,  while  every 
cheer  brought  a  smile  of  joy  to  the  face  of  the  dying 
veteran. 

"  Will  no  one  bring  Hardy  to  me  ?"  he  repeatedly 
cried.     "  He  must  be  killed !     He  is  surely  dead !" 

In  truth,  the  captain  dared  not  leave  the  deck. 
28 


326  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

More  than  an  hour  elapsed  before  he  was  able  to 
come  down.  He  grasped  in  silence  the  hand  of  the 
dying  admiral. 

"  Well,  Hardy,  how  goes  the  day  with  us  ?"  asked 
Nelson,  eagerly. 

"  Yery  well,"  was  the  answer.  "  Ten  ships  have 
struck;  but  five  of  the  van  have  tacked,  and  show 
an  intention  to  bear  down  upon  the  Victory.  I  have 
called  two  or  three  of  our  fresh  ships  around,  and 
have  no  doubt  of  giving  them  a  drubbing." 

"I  hope  none  of  our  ships  have  struck,"  said 
Nelson. 

"  There  is  no  fear  of  that,"  answered  Hardy. 

Then  came  a  moment's  silence,  and  then  Nelson 
spoke  of  himself. 

"  I  am  a  dead  man,  Hardy,"  he  said.  "  I  am  going 
fast ;  it  will  be  all  over  with  me  soon.  Come  nearer 
to  me.  Let  my  dear  Lady  Hamilton  have  my  hair 
and  all  other  things  belonging  to  me." 

"  I  hope  it  is  not  so  bad  as  that,"  said  Hardy,  with 
much  emotion.  "  Dr.  Beatty  must  yet  hold  out  some 
hope  of  life." 

"Oh,  no,  that  is  impossible,"  said  Nelson.  "My 
back  is  shot  through  :  Beatty  will  tell  you  so." 

Captain  Hardy  grasped  his  hand  again,  the  tears 
standing  in  his  eyes,  and  then  hurried  on  deck  to 
hide  the  emotion  he  could  scarcely  repress. 

Life  slowly  left  the  frame  of  the  dying  hero :  every 
minute  he  was  nearer  death.  Sensation  vanished 
below  his  breast.  He  made  the  surgeon  test  and 
acknowledge  this. 

"  You  know  I  am  gone,"  he  said.     "  I  know  it.     1 


TEAPALGAR  AND  THE   DEATH   OP  NELSON.  327 

feel  something  rising  in  my  breast  which  tells  me 
so." 

"  Is  your  pain  great  ?"  asked  Beatty. 

*'  So  gi-eat,  that  I  wish  I  were  dead.  Yet,"  he  con- 
tinued, in  lower  tones.  "  one  would  like  to  live  a  littlo 
longer,  too." 

A  few  moments  of  silence  passed ;  then  he  said  in 
the  same  low  tone, — 

"  What  would  become  of  my  poor  Lady  Hamilton 
if  she  knew  my  situation  ?" 

Fifteen  minutes  elapsed  before  Captain  Hardy  re- 
turned. On  doing  so,  he  warmly  grasped  Nelson's 
hand,  and  in  tones  of  joy  congratuUited  him  on  the 
victory  which  he  had  come  to  announce. 

"How  many  of  the  enemy  are  taken,  I  cannot 
say,"  he  remarked ;  "  the  smoke  hides  them ;  but  we 
hare  not  less  than  fourteen  or  fifteen." 

"  That's  well,"  cried  Nelson,  "  but  I  bargained  for 
twent}'.  Anchor,  Hardy,  anchor  I"  he  commanded, 
in  a  stronger  voice. 

"  "Will  not  Admiral  Collingwood  take  charge  of  the 
fleet  ?"  hinted  Hardy. 

"Not  while  I  live.  Hardy,"  answered  Nelson, 
with  an  effort  to  lift  himself  in  his  bed.  "  Do  you 
anchor." 

Hardy  started  to  obey  this  last  order  of  his  beloved 
commander.     In  a  low  tone  Nelson  called  him  back. 

"  Don't  throw  me  overboard,  Hai'dy,"  he  pleaded. 
"  Take  me  home  that  I  may  be  buried  by  my  parents, 
unless  the  king  shall  order  otherwise.  And  tako 
care  of  my  dear  Lady  Hamilton,  Hardy ;  take  care 
of  poor  Lady  Hamilton.     Kiss  me.  Hardy." 


328  HISTORICAL  TALES 

The  weeping  captain  knelt  and  kissed  him. 

«  Now  I  am  satisfied,"  said  the  dying  hero.  "  Thank 
God,  I  have  done  my  duty." 

Hardy  stood  and  looked  down  in  sad  silence  upon 
him,  then  again  knelt  and  kissed  him  on  the  fore- 
liead, 

"  Who  is  that  ?"  asked  Nelson. 

"  It  is  I,  Hardy,"  was  the  reply. 

"  God  bless  you,  Hardy,"  came  in  tones  just  abovo 
a  whisper. 

Hardy  turned  and  left.  He  could  bear  no  more. 
He  had  looked  his  last  on  his  old  commander. 

"  I  wish  I  had  not  left  the  deck,"  said  Nelson ;  "  for 
I  see  I  shall  soon  be  gone." 

It  was  true ;  life  was  fast  ebbing. 

«  Doctor,"  he  said  to  the  chaplain, "  I  have  not  been 
a  great  sinner."  He  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then 
continued,  "  Eemember  that  I  leave  Lady  Hamilton 
and  ray  daughter  Horatio  as  a  legacy  to  my  country." 

Words  now  came  with  difficulty. 

"  Thank  God,  I  have  done  my  duty,"  he  said,  re- 
peating these  words  again  and  again.  They  were 
his  last  words.  He  died  at  half-past  four,  three  and 
a  quarter  hours  after  he  had  been  wounded. 

Meanwhile,  Nelson's  prediction  had  been  realized : 
twenty  French  ships  had  struck  their  flags.  The 
T  ictory  of  Trafalgar  was  complete ;  Napoleon's  hope 
of  invading  England  was  at  an  end.  Nelson,  djnng, 
had  saved  his  country  by  destroying  the  fleet  of  her 
foes.  Never  had  a  sun  set  in  greater  glory  than  did 
the  life  of  this  hero  of  the  navy  of  Great  Britain, 
the  ruler  of  the  waves. 


THE  MASSACRE  OF  AN  ARMY, 

The  sentinels  on  the  ramparts  of  Jelalabad,  a  for. 
tifiedpost  held  by  the  British  in  Afghanistan,  looking 
out  over  the  plain  that  extended  northward  and 
westward  from  the  town,  saw  a  singular-looking 
person  approaching.  He  rode  a  pony  that  seemed 
so  jaded  with  travel  that  it  could  scarcely  lift  a  foot 
to  continue,  its  head  drooping  low  as  it  dragged 
slowly  onward.  The  traveller  seemed  in  as  evil 
plight  as  his  horse.  His  head  was  bent  forward 
upon  his  breast,  the  rein  had  fallen  from  his  nerve- 
less grasp,  and  he  swayed  in  the  saddle  as  if  he  could 
barely  retain  his  seat.  As  he  came  nearer,  and  lifted 
his  face  for  a  moment,  he  was  seen  to  be  frightfully 
pale  and  haggard,  with  the  horror  of  an  untold 
tragedy  in  his  bloodshot  eyes.  Who  was  he  ?  An 
Englishman,  evidently,  perhaps  a  messenger  from  the 
army  at  Cabul.  The  officers  of  the  fort,  notified  of 
his  approach,  ordered  that  the  gates  should  be  opened. 
In  a  short  time  more  man  and  horse  were  within  the 
walls  of  the  town. 

So  pitiable  and  woe-begone  a  spectacle  none  there 

had  ever  beheld.     The  man  seemed  almost  a  corpse 

on  horseback.     He  had  fairly  to  be  lifted  from  his 

saddle,  and  borne  inward  to  a  place  of  shelter  and 

28*  329 


330  HISTORICAL  TALES. 

repose,  while  the  animal  was  scarcely  able  to  make 
its  way  to  the  stable  to  which  it  was  led.  As  the 
traveller  rested,  eager  questions  ran  through  the 
garrison.  Who  was  he?  How  came  he  in  such  a 
condition  ?  What  had  he  to  tell  of  the  army  in  the 
field?  Did  his  coming  in  this  sad  plight  portend 
some  dark  disaster  ? 

This  curiosity  was  shared  by  the  officer  in  com- 
mand of  the  fort.  Giving  his  worn-out  guest  no  long 
time  to  recover,  he  plied  him  with  inquiries. 

"You  are  exhausted,"  he  said.  "I  dislike  to  dis 
turb  you,  but  I  beg  leave  to  ask  you  a  few  ques- 
tions." 

"  Go  on,  sir ;  I  can  answer,"  said  the  traveller,  in  a 
weary  tone. 

"Do  you  bring  a  message  from  General  Elphin- 
Btone, — from  the  army  ?" 

"I  bring  no  message.  There  is  no  army, — or, 
rather,  I  am  the  army,"  was  the  enigmatical  reply. 

"  You  the  army  ?     I  do  not  understand  you." 

"  I  represent  the  army.  The  others  are  gone, — 
dead,  massacred,  prisoners, — man,  woman,  and  child. 
I,  Doctor  Brydon,  am  the  army, — all  that  remains 
of  it." 

The  commander  heard  him  in  astonishment  and 
horror.  General  Elphinstone  had  seventeen  thou- 
eand  soldiers  and  camp-followers  in  his  camp  at 
Cabul.     "  Did  Dr.  Brydon  mean  to  say " 

"  They  are  all  gone,"  was  the  feeble  reply.  "  I  am 
left;  all  the  others  are  slain.  You  may  well  look 
frightened,  sir ;  you  would  be  heart-sick  with  horror 
had  you  gone  through  my  experience.     I  have  seen 


THE   MASSACRE  OP  AN   ARMY.  331 

an  army  slaughtered  before  my  eyes,  and  am  here 
alone  to  tell  it." 

It  was  true ;  the  army  had  vanished ;  an  event  had 
happened  almost  without  precedent  in  the  history  of 
the  world,  unless  we  instance  the  burying  of  the 
army  of  Cambyses  in  the  African  desert.  When  Dr. 
Brydon  was  sufficiently  rested  and  refreshed  he  told 
his  story.     It  is  the  story  we  have  here  to  repeat. 

In  the  summer  of  1841  the  British  army  under 
General  Elphinstone  lay  in  cantonments  near  the 
city  of  Cabul,  the  capital  of  Afghanistan,  in  a  position 
far  from  safe  or  wellchoscn.  Thoy  were  a  mile  and 
a  half  from  the  citadel, — the  Bala  Hissar, — with  a 
river  between.  Every  corner  of  their  cantonments 
was  commanded  by  hills  or  Afghan  forts.  Even 
their  provisions  were  beyond  their  reach,  in  case  of 
attack,  being  stored  in  a  fort  at  some  distance  from 
the  cantonments.  They  were  in  the  heart  of  a 
hostile  population.  General  Elphinstone,  trusting 
too  fully  in  the  puppet  of  a  khan  who  hud  been  set 
up  by  British  bayonets,  had  carelessly  kept  his  com- 
mand in  a  weak  and  untenable  position. 

The  general  was  old  and  in  bad  health ;  by  no 
means  the  man  for  the  emergenc3\  He  was  con- 
trolled by  bad  advisers,  who  thought  only  of  return- 
ing to  India,  and  discouraged  the  strengthening  of 
the  fortress.  The  officers  lost  heart  on  seeing  the 
supineuess  of  their  leader.  The  men  were  weary  of 
incessant  watching,  annoyed  by  the  insults  of  the 
natives,  discouraged  by  frequent  reports  of  the  death 
of  comrades,  who  had  been  picked  off  by  roving 
enemies.     The  ladies  alone  retained  confidence,  occu- 


332  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

pying  themselves  in  the  culture  of  their  gardens, 
which,  in  the  delightful  summer  climate  of  that 
situation,  rewarded  their  labors  with  an  abundance 
of  flowers. 

As  time  went  on  the  situation  grew  rapidly  worse. 
Akbar  Khan,  the  leading  spirit  among  the  hostile 
Afghans,  came  down  from  the  north  and  occupied 
the  Khoord  Cabul  Pass, — the  only  way  back  to 
Hindustan.  Ammunition  was  failing,  food  was  de- 
creasing, the  enemy  were  growing  daily  stronger 
and  more  aggressive.  Affairs  had  come  to  such  a 
pass  that  but  one  of  two  things  remained  to  do, — to 
leave  the  cantonments  and  seek  shelter  in  the  citadel 
till  help  should  arrive,  or  to  endeavor  to  march  back 
to  India. 

On  the  23d  of  December  the  garrison  was  alarmed 
by  a  frightful  example  of  boldness  and  ferocity  in 
the  enemy.  Sir  William  Macnaughten,  the  English 
envoy,  who  had  left  the  works  to  treat  with  the 
Afghan  chiefs,  was  seized  by  Akbar  Khan  and  mur- 
dered on  the  spot,  his  head,  with  its  green  spectacles, 
being  held  up  in  derision  to  the  soldiers  within  the 
works. 

The  British  were  now  "advised"  by  the  Afghans 
to  go  back  to  India.  There  was,  in  truth,  nothing 
else  to  do.  They  were  starving  where  they  were. 
If  they  should  fight  their  way  to  the  citadel,  they 
would  be  besieged  there  without  food.  They  must 
go,  whatever  the  risk  or  hardships.  On  the  6th  of 
January  the  fatal  march  began, — a  march  of  four 
thousand  five  hundred  soldiers  and  twelve  thousand 
camp-followers,  besides  women  and  children,  through 


THE   MASSACRE   OP  AN   ARMY.  333 

a  mountainous  country,  filled  with  savage  foes,  and 
in  severe  winter  weather. 

The  first  day's  march  took  them  but  five  miles 
from  the  works,  the  evacuation  taking  place  so 
slowly  that  it  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  before 
the  last  of  the  force  came  up.  It  had  been  a  march 
of  frightful  conditions.  Attacked  by  the  Afghans 
on  every  side,  hundreds  of  the  fugitives  perished  in 
those  first  five  dreadful  miles.  As  the  advance  body 
waited  in  the  snow  for  those  in  the  rear  to  join  them, 
the  glare  of  flames  from  the  burning  cantonments 
told  that  the  evacuation  had  been  completed,  and 
that  the  whole  multitude  was  now  at  the  mercy  of 
its  savage  foes.  It  was  evident  that  they  had  a 
frightful  gantlet  to  run  through  the  fire  of  the 
enemy  and  the  winter's  chilling  winds.  The  snow 
through  which  they  had  slowly  toiled  was  reddened 
with  blood  all  the  way  back  to  Cabul.  Baggage 
was  abandoned,  and  men  and  women  alike  pushed 
forward  for  their  lives,  some  of  them,  in  the  haste 
of  flight,  but  half-clad,  few  sufiiciently  protected 
\rora  the  severe  cold. 

The  succeeding  days  were  days  of  massacre  and 
horror.  The  fierce  hill-tribes  swarmed  around  the 
troops,  attacking  them  in  front,  flank,  and  rear, 
pouring  in  their  fire  from  every  point  of  vantage, 
slaying  them  in  hundreds,  in  thousands,  as  they 
moved  hopelessly  on.  The  despairing  men  fought 
bravely.  Many  of  the  foe  suffered  for  their  temerity. 
Eut  they  Avere  like  prairie- wolves  around  the  dying 
bison  ;  the  retreating  force  lay  helpless  in  their  hands ; 
two  new  foes  took  the  place  of  every  one  thut  fell. 


334  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

Each  day's  horrors  surpassed  those  of  the  last. 
The  camp-followers  died  in  hundreds  from  cold  and 
starvation,  their  frost-bitten  feet  refusing  to  support 
them.  Crawling  in  among  the  rugged  rocks  that 
bordered  the  road,  they  lay  there  helplessly  await- 
ing death.  The  soldiers  fell  in  hundreds.  It  grew 
worse  as  they  entered  the  contracted  mountain-pass 
through  which  their  road  led.  Here  the  ferocious 
foe  swarmed  among  the  rocks,  and  poured  death 
from  the  heights  upon  the  helpless  fugitives.  It 
was  impossible  to  dislodge  them.  Natural  breast- 
works commanded  every  foot  of  that  terrible  road. 
The  hardy  Afghan  mountaineers  climbed  with  the 
agility  of  goats  over  the  hill-sides,  occupying  hun- 
dreds of  points  which  the  soldiers  could  not  reach. 
It  was  a  carnival  of  slaughter.  Nothing  remained 
for  the  helpless  fugitives  but  to  push  forward  with 
all  speed  through  that  frightful  mountain-pass  and 
gain  as  soon  as  possible  the  open  ground  beyond. 

Few  gained  it.  On  the  fourth  day  from  Cabul 
there  were  but  two  hundred  and  seventy  soldiers 
left.  The  fifth  day  found  the  seventeen  thousand 
fugitives  reduced  to  five  thousand.  A  day  more, 
and  these  five  thousand  were  nearly  all  slain.  Only 
twenty  men  remained  of  the  great  body  of  fugitives 
which  had  left  Cabul  less  than  a  week  before.  This 
handful  of  survivors  was  still  relentlessly  pursued. 
A  barrier  detained  them  for  a  deadly  interval  under 
the  fire  of  the  foe,  and  eight  of  the  twenty  died  in 
seeking  to  cross  it.  The  j)ass  was  traversed,  but  the 
army  was  gone.  A  dozen  worn-out  fugitives  were 
all  that  remained  alive. 


THE   MASSACRE   OP  AN  ARMY.  335 

On  they  struggled  towards  Jelalabad,  death  fol- 
lowing them  still.  They  reached  the  last  town  on 
their  road ;  but  six  of  them  had  fallen.  These  six 
were  starving.  They  had  not  tas-ted  food  for  daj-a. 
Some  peasants  offered  them  bread.  They  devoui-ed 
it  like  famished  wolves.  But  as  they  did  so  the  in- 
habitants of  the  town  seized  their  arms  and  assailed 
them.  Two  of  them  were  cut  down.  The  others 
fled,  but  were  hotly  pursued.  Three  of  the  four 
were  overtaken  and  slain  within  four  miles  of  Jela- 
labad. Dr.  Brydon  alone  remained,  and  gained  the 
fort  alone,  the  sole  survivor,  as  he  believed  and  re- 
ported, of  the  seventeen  thousand  fugitives.  The 
Afghan  chiefs  had  boasted  that  they  would  allow 
only  one  man  to  live,  to  warn  the  British  to  meddle 
no  more  with  Afghanistan.  Their  boast  seemed  lit- 
erally fulfilled.  Only  one  man  had  traversed  in 
safety  that  "valley  of  the  shadow  of  death." 

Fortunately,  there  were  more  living  than  Dr.  Bry- 
don was  aware  of.  Akbar  Khan  had  offered  to 
save  the  ladies  and  children  if  the  married  and 
wounded  officers  were  delivered  into  his  hands.  This 
was  done.  General  Elphinstone  was  among  the 
prisoners,  and  died  in  captivity,  a  relief  to  himself 
and  his  friends  from  the  severe  account  to  which  the 
government  would  have  been  obliged  to  call  him. 

Now  for  the  sequel  to  this  story  of  suffering  and 
slaughter.  The  invasion  of  Afghanistan  by  the 
English  had  been  for  the  purpose  of  protecting  the 
Indian  frontier.  A  prince,  Shah  Soojah,  friendly  to 
England,  was  placed  on  the  throne.  This  prince  was 
repudiated  by  the  Afghan  tribes,  and  to  their  bitter 


336  HISTORICAL   TALES. 

and  savage  hostility  was  due  the  result  which  wc 
have  briefly  described.  It  was  a  result  with  which 
the  British  authorities  were  not  likely  to  remain 
satisfied.  The  news  of  the  massacre  sent  a  thrill  of 
horror  through  the  civilized  world.  Eetribution  was 
the  sole  thought  in  British  circles  in  India.  A  strong 
force  was  at  once  collected  to  punish  the  Afghans 
and  rescue  the  prisoners.  Under  General  Pollock  it 
fought  its  way  through  the  Khyher  Pass  and  reached 
Jelalabad.  Thence  it  advanced  to  Cabul,  the  soldiers, 
infuriated  by  the  sight  of  the  bleaching  skeletons 
that  thickly  lined  the  roadway,  assailing  the  Afghans 
with  a  ferocity  equal  to  their  own.  Wherever  armed 
Afghans  were  met  death  was  their  portion.  No- 
where could  they  stand  against  the  maddened  Eng- 
lish troops.  Filled  with  terror,  they  fled  for  safety 
to  the  mountains,  the  invading  force  having  terribly 
revenged  their  slaughtered  countrymen. 

It  next  remained  to  rescue  the  prisoners.  They 
had  been  carried  about  from  fort  to  fort,  suffering 
many  hardships  and  discomforts,  but  not  being  other- 
wise maltreated.  They  were  given  up  to  the  British, 
after  the  recapture  of  Cabul,  with  the  hope  that 
this  would  satisfy  these  terrible  avengers.  It  did  so. 
The  fortifications  of  Cabul  were  destroyed,  and  the 
British  army  was  withdrawn  from  the  country. 
England  had  paid  bitterly  for  the  mistake  of  occiipy- 
ing  it.  The  bones  of  a  slaughtered  army  paved  the 
road  that  led  to  the  Afghan  capital. 

THE   END. 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

305  De  Neve  Drive  -  Parking  Lot  17  •  Box  951388 

LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA  90095-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library  from  which  It  was  borrowed. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACIUTY 


AA    000  784  146    3 


DA 

32.8 

M83h 


